


Just Before Dawn

by le_criminel_consultation



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Gen, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Swearing, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-18 21:45:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10625754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/le_criminel_consultation/pseuds/le_criminel_consultation
Summary: After a prank gone wrong, Hannah flees into the woods.  Beth follows her.  The girls are never seen again.B̶u̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶p̶o̶l̶i̶c̶e̶ ̶n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ ̶p̶r̶o̶v̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶y̶ ̶d̶i̶e̶d̶.̶A year later, eight friends reunite in the aftermath of their loss to find closure and reconciliation among themselves, but they seem to have forgotten the two people who they need forgiveness from the most.An Until Dawn AU that takes the story in a different direction.





	1. Green Hills and Enemies

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Broken Parable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9246839) by [gentlemanadventurer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlemanadventurer/pseuds/gentlemanadventurer). 



She scrolls through the hundreds - no, thousands of pictures on her phone.  Sometimes she taps the screen to zoom in on laughing faces. These are memories, fragments of frozen time, a reminder of all the good times they’d had. There was a time once when they had all been inseparable - when every day was filled with parties or shopping trips or just hanging out somewhere.  Since the accident, they had drifted apart.  These photos no longer makes her happy.  Now, they only bring pain.

 

The bus creaked to a halt.  Sam is already at the door, backpack clutched to her shoulder, as they slowly swing open.  She is thrilled to get off of this bus, and not just because of the two-hour ride.  The roads were so bumpy, and the breaks didn’t always catch, so the driver careened around some corners.  It didn’t help that the old man behind her kept staring at her and licking his lips.  Half of her reasons that he was thirsty; the other hints that it’s not water he’s thirsting for.  She hops off the bus, waves goodbye to the elderly driver, and approaches the old cable car station. It’s run down, clearly only here for the annual trips to the lodge by the Washingtons (and the secret trips by Josh desiring private parties).  The door is slightly ajar; a small billow of snow is piling in the entrance.  She gingerly steps around it and pushes the door shut behind her.  Despite that, a chilled breeze still whispers through the building.  She shivers and holds her arms for some extra warmth.  It was probably the others, she decides.  It isn’t fair to them to expect them to wait on her.  She was four hours late, after all.  Of course they were already g -

 

Arms, thick like young tree trunks, shoot around her and squeeze tightly, crushing her chest.  Her feet are ripped from the ground.  Without thinking, she begins to thrash and kick violently, trying to break free. Panic explodes in her chest, squeezing her heart and lungs almost as tightly as the strangling arms.  The door, she realizes with a jolt.  The door was open.  That door was always, always locked, and only Josh had the key.  Someone knew the others were waiting on someone and had sneaked in, laid in wait, for that one final person…

 

“About time you got here, little missy,” growls a deep voice in her ear, hot air smothering her cheek.  Sam thrusts her head back, smashing it against the assailant’s face as hard as she could.  He curses and releases her immediately.  Her feet, followed by her knees, slam into the ground.  She presses both arms against her chest, wheezing and gasping for air.  She has to get up.  She has to move.  He’ll only be down for a second before he’ll be back, and this time, he probably won’t be gentle.

 

“ _Fuck_ , Sammy, that hurt!”

 

She knows that voice.  Sam jumps back to her feet, staggering a little bit as a wave of dizziness punches her in the face.  She leaps forward to tackle her assailant, wrapping her arms around him in a tight bear hug.  “Mike Munroe!  Oh my god!”  She leans back slightly, arms still wrapped around him, and grins giddily up at him.  He smiles back, that same old dimple nestling just underneath his rugged cheekbones.  She doesn’t get goosebumps or butterflies; she doesn’t see a potential partner or even wet dream material.  All she sees is a cocky old friend.  “You are an absolute asshole.  Don’t do that!”

 

“Yeah, Mike.  Don’t do that.”  Sam flinches at the ice in those words and releases Mike immediately. She takes her time turning around, wrapping her arms instinctively around her chest again - this time as a shield.  “Hi, Jessica.  Haven’t seen you in a while.  How’ve you been?”

 

The shorter girl is standing in that standard ‘I am not happy with what I am currently seeing with my own two eyes’ pose.  Her arms are folded over her chest, weight shifting to one leg.  If looks could kill, her expression would have already dismembered Sam’s body and hidden each part in a different city.  “Good.  Great.  Yeah, I’m dating Mike now, so…”

 

She shrugs, but volumes remain unspoken, hanging in the air.  Sam swallows.  She feels like she’s breathing Jello.  She takes a long, slow breath to try to relax - yoga breathing, Gibbons, yoga breathing - and forces a bright smile.  “I had no idea.  That’s so awesome!  How long have you guys been together?”

 

Jessica flips one of her braids over her shoulder and purses her lips slightly.  Before she can speak, Mike proudly announces, “About a month now.” She shoots him a dirty look and corrects him with a painfully patient tone, “Three weeks and two days, actually.”  Her eyes return to Sam, who is frozen like a rabbit in a highway, and smiles.  The smile does not reach her eyes; it barely escapes her bubblegum pink lip gloss.  “We’ve been waiting here for you a really long time.  I wanted to go with the others, but Mike _insisted_ on waiting here for you.  You couldn’t call or something?”

 

Sam’s face flushed dark pink.  “I’m sorry.  My flight got delayed by two hours, and the bus ride here was absolute murder.  I figured you guys would all be at the lodge, so I didn’t think - I mean, there’s no coverage on the mountain, so why bother, right?”  She laughs nervously.

 

Jessica doesn’t.  “Well, let’s go.  It’s freezing in here, and it’s starting to get dark.  I want to be soaking in a hot tub before this day of hell is over.”   She turns away, indicating that the conversation is over.  Sam and Mike follow her out to the cable car terminal. He shoots her an apologetic look, and she shrugs and smiles back at him. The girls climb in first.  Sam notices how Jessica claims the seat across from her and stares pointedly out the window.  Mike stays behind for a moment to activate the car. It takes him but a moment to hop in as the cable car starts moving but a second too long to choose where to sit.  Jessica pinches him sharply on the thigh.  “Ow!  Jesus, Jess, what the fuck?”  She doesn’t answer, but he can see the storm in her face and wisely (for once) decides to fall silent.

 

The first few minutes of the hour-long trip are unbearable.  They seem to stretch for hours.  Sam can’t take it anymore; she clears her throat and smiles again at Jessica.  “So, Jess, how’s school?  I heard you’re in the run for prom queen?”

 

Jessica turns her head to face the blonde across the car.  “Yes.  I am.”  Her words are short, curt, abrupt.

 

Sam swallows hard but doesn’t stop smiling.  “That’s so awesome!  You’re going to win, I’m sure of it.”

 

For once, Jessica smiles.  “Yes, I am.”  Her words aren’t as cold this time.  Sam takes that as a good sign.  She nods at Mike.  “I’m assuming Mike here will be your prom king.  What colors are you going with?”

 

They chatter about aimless high school drama for a few minutes.  It’s small talk, plain and simple, but it breaks the ice. Mike is clearly bored, staring out the window and twiddling his thumbs the entire time.  Sam feels herself relaxing and assumes that Jessica is doing the same.  This is good.  This is a good start to a great weekend.

 

Mike exhales through pursed lips, making a blurbing noise.  “Ladies, ladies, I get that you have to gush over your new outfit, but I’ve been a good boy and I think I deserve to talk too.”  Sam snickers; Jessica instantly stiffens.  Mike ignores her and leans forward, steepling his fingers over his knees.  “Now then.  Miss Giddings.  I hear tell that you are going to be joining the protests in March?”

 

Jessica scoffs and looks away, folding her arms back over her chest, but Sam ignores her for now.  “I plan to, yes.  So far, I’m the only student in our school that’s going to, but I’m hoping to change that.  Ash said she’d talk to the rest of the U.N. Assembly, but… I don’t know.  I don’t think any of them are going to do it.  I might actually have to go to Quebec with the main protest.”  She shrugs.  “It’s not really a stretch.  Dad works there, so he can just drop me off in the morning and pick me up on the drive home.  It’s the standing for nine hours I’m dreading.  They make it look so easy, but it’s really not.”

 

“Ah, come on.  You’re an athlete - I mean, if you count jogging and climbing rock walls and yoga as sports.”

 

She raises an eyebrow and drags her eyes slowly and deliberately up and down the length of Mike’s toned body.  “Uh-huh.  I see you’re still working out.  Stand up, Munroe.  Let me see the whole package.”  He stands and spins in an awkward circle, stumbling as the car lurches from the shift in weight.  She nods solemnly as he drops back into the seat.  “I see, I see.  Working out has certainly affected that Mike Munroe butt.”

 

Jessica glares at her.  “Excuse me - are you checking out my boyfriend’s ass?”

 

Sam shrugs.  “Don’t worry, I won’t steal him from you.  I don’t know about you, Jess, but I personally am not a fan of washboard butt.”

 

Mike begins to laugh, but Jessica turns her icy glare on him.  He falls silent but his body shakes with muffled snorts and the occasional knee-slap.  The rest of the ride is spent in tense, awkward silence.

 

 

 

|-------▼-------|

 

 

 

Sam is the first person off of the cable car.  She cannot wait to escape; the tension was getting to her.  She swore she was starting to see things.  Movement in the trees below, flashes of light and fire.  She heard a squeal ten minutes ago that she swears was not the car scraping against the cable.  Just the memory gives her goosebumps.  She stretches and shakes her hands as she stomps the life back into her feet and legs.  God.  She finally remembers how much she hated that thing.  It’s so claustrophobic.

 

“Oh shit - heads up!”

 

She ducks instinctively.  Pap.  Mike sputters behind her; she turns as she straightens up again just in time to watch him wipe splattered snow off of his now grinning face.  “Hey!  Taylor!  Your aim is still shit!  Want some pointers from the actual athlete in this group?”

 

“You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn if you were on steroids, Munroe!  Bring it!”

 

Mike grabs a handful of snow and charged past Sam, crushing it into a snowball as he runs.  Sam stumbles as Jessica shoves past her as well, flouncing toward the cable car station.  She doesn’t follow, assuming she’s going to the bathroom and that she almost certainly would like her privacy.  A red haired girl abandons the group of boys and hurries over, laughing.  Her pale cheeks are flushed from the cold and the laughter.  “Sam!  You came!  Oh my gosh, you’re actually here!”  She throws her arms around her friend.

 

Sam hugs her back, grinning in relief.  Finally, a total lack of animosity.  “Ash!  You look great!”

 

Ash steps back and seems to regain her composure.  “Oh, shut up.  I’ve been playing in the snow for five hours.  I look like crap.  God, those bathtubs at the lodge sound amazing right now.”

 

Sam groans.  “God, don’t remind me.”  She frowns, turning serious for a moment.  “So - I have to ask.  What’s up with Jessica?  I mean, we were never really that close, but the entire ride up here, she was just…I dunno, a straight up bitch?  Do you know what that was about?”

 

Ash shakes her head.  “I have no idea.  She’s been like this since the party.  I’m hoping to talk to her alone later, maybe find out.”

 

Sam pats her lightly on the shoulder.  “Good luck.  I have to pee.  I’ve been holding it for three hours, and I think my bladder’s about to explode.”  She turns and jogs toward the bathrooms.  The doors are heavy.  As a child, she was unable to push it open, but she was stubborn and refused to ask for help.  One day, when she was alone, she couldn’t get into the bathroom, so she peed in the bushes behind station.  The next week was…itchy.  She smiles to herself as she tries the stall door; it won’t budge.

 

“Excuse me, I was here first.”  Jessica’s voice is as bitter and icy as the outside air.  Sam withdraws her hand from the door as though it’s a snake.  She doesn’t say anything and creeps out of the bathroom as quietly as she can.  The door thuds shut behind her, the boom echoing in the bathroom like a cannon shot.  Perhaps it is wiser to use the men’s room.  Nobody’s in it right now.  Right?

 

To be safe, she pushes it open a little and leans in to call out - but there are voices.  Two of them.

 

“I just don’t see what you see in that…that absolute frigid bitch.”

 

“Em, she’s just more…my type than you are.”

 

“Oh wow.  That’s sooo original.  ‘It’s not you, it’s me.  You’re not my type.  It’s not your fault I’m not attracted to you, it’s my dick insisting on only fucking skinny blonde skanks’!”  Emily’s voice is shrill, even trembling slightly.  Oh my god, is she crying?  No - no, when she cries, she can barely breathe.  She gasps.  She gulps.  She cannot speak a single word.  She may not be crying now, but she is extremely close to tears.

 

Mike sighs.  Sam doesn’t have to see his face to know that his hand is pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Em…”

 

“No, no, it’s fine.  It’s fine.  I mean, we had a full fourteen months of pure heaven, and you just threw it away, but sure, that’s nothing, right?  Fourteen months of our lives is nothing.”

 

“Em, our time together wasn’t ‘nothing’ - ”

 

“Oh, really?  Then why aren’t we together right now, Mike?  Why am I here with Matt and not you?”

 

“We just didn’t work out.”

 

“We can make us work out.  Love is work, Mike.  I’m willing to make us work.”

 

“There’s nothing to work on, Em.  We’re through.”

 

“Are we?  If we’re really and truly through, you won’t feel anything when I do this.”

 

Sam doesn’t hear the kiss.  She doesn’t have to.

 

It’s time to go.  She ducks around the corner, just in case they hear her.  Within seconds, Mike storms out of the bathroom; Emily exits on his heels and heads straight for the girl’s room.  Sam waits a few moments before hesitantly making her way back to Ashley.  The girl is sitting on the wooden fence, swinging her legs lightly back and forth.  She looks up curiously as Sam approaches.  “I thought you had to pee.”

 

Sam shrugs, trying to seem casual.  “Jess is barricaded in the girl’s and the bathroom is gross.  Have you seen it?  I swear, nobody that has ever entered that bathroom has ever heard of bleach.  Or just soap in general.”

 

Before Ash can reply, shouting erupts from the bathroom.  The argument is so loud that even the tussling boys stop horsing around to stare.  Emily storms out of the bathroom, Jessica hot on her heels.   Matt and Mike, the dutiful boyfriends, approach their respective partners, if only to keep them from murdering each other.  Jessica grabs Mike’s sleeve and drags him away toward the woods; Emily brushes past Matt as if he doesn’t exist and joins the girls.  “Can you fucking believe that girl?”

 

Sam does not reply - she’s not even sure if she can.  Ash, however, jumps right in almost eagerly.  “Oh my god, Emily, what did she do this time?”

 

“She said, and I fucking quote, ‘Um, did you not realize we were coming to the mountain?  Did you think we were going to Las Vegas?  I mean, why else would you dress like an absolute bimbo?’”  Emily scoffs and shakes her head, flipping her black bob over her shoulder.  “Does this look slutty to you, Ashley?”  She gestures down up and down her body.  Sam examines it; she’s wearing a white blouse underneath a ribbed dark gray turtleneck, a black leather jacket with fur trim with matching boots, and black jeans.  Ash shakes her head solemnly.  Emily smiles triumphantly, throwing in an emphatic nod.  “I didn’t think so.  I mean, if I wanted to dress like a whore, I’d dress like you, Sam.”  She points at Sam’s short plaid skirt and black leggings; Sam’s face flushes with embarrassment.  She still doesn’t say anything.  She doesn’t like getting involved in negative harassment like this.  She doesn't believe in karma.  She is, however, a huge advocate of the butterfly effect - that your every choice, however insignificant, has a consequence later on.

 

Ash hesitates for a moment.  “I don’t think Sam’s outfit is slutty.”  Her voice has changed from enthusiastic, even eager, to meek and quiet.  Sam has known Ashley for years; she’s been aware of Ashley’s fear of being disliked for nearly as long.  She shoots Ash a faint smile, but Ash doesn’t notice; her eyes are locked on Emily, fearful of her reaction.

 

Emily just rolls her eyes.  “You’re not exactly a fashion expert, Ash.”  Still, she drops the subject, something both girls are relieved about, and returns to the topic of Jessica.  Sam is less than thrilled about.  “She called me a bimbo.  A bimbo, Ashley!  A bimbo is a stupid slut.  Does she not realize that I pulled a 4.0 GPA?  I am literally smarter than all the members of her family combined.   _She’s_ the fucking bimbo!”

 

Sam decides to walk away at this point.  She knows Emily will rant for hours if you get her started; it is her go-to way to relieve anger and stress.  It can get overbearing, and Sam is quite relieved that this time, she has a viable escape.  She walks through the snow, relishing the crisp crunch beneath her boots.  It almost drowns out Emily’s words, reminds her that she is surrounded by pristine nature.  The twitter of the birds, the almost husky smell of the nearby pine trees, the glitter of light on snow…  It was a perfect, natural replica of a scene out of almost any Christmas movie.  She would never say so out loud, but this is her home away from home.  She loves nature; this is nature at its finest.  The Washingtons made a good choice coming here.

 

“Sam - Sam!”  Matt grabs her arm, interrupting her reverie.  He is panting slightly, still worn from the snowball fight.  Snow is dusting his short black hair.  Sam reaches up to brush it off; he shakes his head as soon as her hand is away to make sure it’s all gone.  “I - What’s going on with Emily?  What happened in there?  She talked to you - right?”

 

Sam shakes her head.  “She and Jessica had a fight.  Apparently Jessica insulted her outfit and called her a bimbo.”  She shrugs as dismissively as she dares with Emily still nearby.  “I think they’re just tense around each other because of the whole Mike thing.  I mean, he asked Jessica out less than a month after he dumped Emily.  That’s going to cause some animosity, especially between best friends.  Give it time, Matt.  It’ll pass.”

 

Matt shakes his head.  “It feels like it’s taking forever.  I mean…I understand they’ve only been apart for a month, but…”  He shrugged.  “I just feel like she’s so hung up over Mike that she’s never going to realize that I’m here and waiting for her.”  He lowers his voice to the point that Sam has to lean closer to hear him.  “But I’m going to prove to her that I’m different.  I’m going to wait for her.  I’m going to be patient.  She’ll see that I’m serious.”  He nods confidently and straightens.

 

Sam doesn’t have the heart to tell him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am absolutely OBSESSED with Broken Parable by gentlemanadventurer - I tagged this fic as inspired by it because it very much IS. Seriously, go read it. It's amazing.
> 
> Okay, so, this chapter was...hard to write. I'm really really bad at introductions, and this chapter had SEVEN OF THEM. Woof. It didn't help that I'm borrowing my friend's new Alienware until he gets off work (it is the most amazing computer ever, I want this so much) and I keep accidentally hitting the refresh key on my CalmlyWriter and losing ALL MY PROGRESS. Seriously. I almost quit like five times. So annoying.
> 
> The fic title and all the chapter titles will be taken from "Bullets" by Tunng - unless I find something else that fits. Right now, this song seems perfect.
> 
> The tags are slim now. I'm updating them as I go along because if I tag everything I plan to have at the end of the fic, there will be MAJOR spoilers and I'm not about that life.
> 
> I love comments and feedback. Hit me up. Message me here, message me on Tumblr, whatever. I'm trying to get better at writing, and I can't improve unless you guys tell me what I'm doing wrong, right? Tell me what to fix, or I'll be spewing garbage until the day I die.
> 
> Coming up:  
> \- Jessica and Emily do NOT know how to play nice.  
> \- Josh is a less than ideal host.  
> \- Men in tank tops apparently do not feel the cold (???)  
> \- Loose lips sink ships. Booze is BFFs with loose lips.  
> and  
> \- "...did you seriously just say that to her face?"


	2. Sentimental Inside

They trudge through the snow; they’re close together for warmth, but it is obvious that nobody wants to be closer to the others than they absolutely have to be. Each crunch of boots breaking through the frozen crust echoes in the surrounding woods. Sam and Ash huddle closer, Ash finally ducking against Sam’s side and snuggling in close. It makes for an awkward walk, both girls stumbling over each other’s feet, but it is surprisingly cozy. She finds it somewhat comforting and drapes her arm over Ash’s shoulders.

  
  


“Didn’t realize you were gay, Ashley. Was dick not good enough for you?” Emily’s voice cuts through the air colder than the wind ever could. Sam’s face flushes dark red but she doesn’t make a move to release Ash; the shorter redhead, however, jerks away as though Sam is suddenly made of pure acid. Sam tries to ignore the completely irrational stab of hurt and wraps her arms tightly around her chest.

  
  


They continue on in silence. Emily and Jessica walk faster than Ash and Sam and leave them behind in the snow. Sam is secretly grateful; she has no desire to be anywhere near them when the tension in the air inevitably swells into a grenade and explodes. Emily isn’t exactly helping matters. She keeps blowing the steam from her breath in Jessica’s direction. Sam can tell Jessica’s getting upset. Her shoulders are getting tense; her steps are becoming furious stomps.

  
  


Finally, Jessica snaps, “Can you not breathe in my fucking face, please?”

  
  


“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was a crime to breathe now. Is this a new law passed by you, the Queen of the Mountain?”

  
  


“I know you mean that in a totally bitch way,” Jessica begins, her voice quiet yet still ringing in the clearing. “But you know what? Yeah. Yeah, it is a fucking crime to breathe when your little cloud of halitosis makes me want to vomit.”

  
  


Emily stops walking abruptly. Sam and Ash stumble to a halt several feet behind, refusing to move forward. They both know what happens when Emily and Jessica start to fight, and they want no part of it. It’s much safer to stay several feet back from the blast radius. That does not stop Ash from stepping back to hide behind Sam. She wants to call Ash a coward, but she cannot even deny that if there was another person here, she wouldn’t hesitate to do the exact same thing. The more between herself and the girls’ explosive wrath, the better.

  
  


But there is nothing.

  
  


The girls are squaring off now, facing each other. Each girl is just glaring at the other. The temperature in the clearing drops from freezing to sub-zero merely from their presence. The tension is palpable; Sam feels like she could just reach out and squish it between her fingers like putty. Ash’s fingers are digging into her upper arm. The nails feel like they’ve broken past her winter coat and are now trying to pierce her skin. She can hear the girl’s breathing growing heavy and ragged. She awkwardly pats her friend’s hand in a feeble attempt to calm her down. She doesn’t think she can cope with two furious girls and an anxiety attack on this already hellish walk. Perhaps splitting up from the boys was a bad idea.

  
  


“At least you can’t smell the skank on my breath. Now, is that Mike’s dick I smell, or did you blow the bus driver on the way here?”

  
  


Jessica laughs, but the sound is hollow. “Oh wow, that’s so original! Where did you find that burn, the freezer?”

  
  


“At least I can burn, bitch! I guess your hollow head can’t figure out how to wrap words together with your mouth so full of - ”

  
  


“Okay!” Sam lunges forward without thinking and throws her hands out to separate the two screaming girls. “Enough! You two need to seriously stop this shit.” She’s a pacifist, she reminds herself. She is the fight breaker - but damn, she wants to punch both of them so hard right now. “I get you two hate each other, but can you seriously not be at each other’s throats all week? We’re supposed to be here for Josh. This party is to help Josh get over B-Beth and Hannah.” She has to gulp back a sudden lump in her throat. It burns and throbs, but she has to keep pushing. “So seriously - get over your shit. And just to keep the peace - ” She points at Ash, who is frozen in what can only be sheer terror. “You will walk with Jessica in the front, and I will walk with Emily in the back. Okay? You guys need a little break from each other.”

  
  


Jessica rolls her eyes and tosses her head to the side. “I’m actually super okay with that. As long as I’m not with that skank, I’m in fucking heaven. C’mon, Ash, let’s go.” She flounces back to Ashley, who stares at her for several long, awkward seconds in a sort of deer-in-headlights, petrified terror.

  
  


Sam doesn’t even wait to see what happens. If they hang back, great - that gives her and Emily to get a little farther ahead and give the girls a little extra space. She grabs Emily’s hand, but the Asian-American rips her hand out and glares at her. “How about a little less touchy, hmm? Thanks.”

  
  


“Uh - sure.” Sam shakes her head in mild confusion and withdraws her hand to shove it into her pocket. They walk in silence for several minutes, shivering in unison; it wouldn’t be so awkward if Jessica and Ash weren’t chattering away behind them, fast friends til the end. Sam rubs her arm and swallows, trying to gather the courage to try something that will either work or get her killed. “So… how long have you and Matt been together?”

  
  


“None of your business.”

  
  


Oh. Crap. “That’s fair. Um… are you going to drink with us this time? Last time you didn’t seem that into it.”

  
  


“There was a lot of shit going on. I might. We’ll see.” Emily seems even more distant now, her words chopping off in each final syllable.

  
  


Sam nods. “Yeah, last year was pretty intense.” Her mouth is so dry. She can’t swallow. “I…we haven’t really talked since then. How are you taking it?”

  
  


“Um… about what, exactly?” Is it possible for her words to get any colder?

  
  


“The - accident. With Beth and Hannah.”

  
  


“I’m fine.” Apparently it is extremely possible for her words to get colder. She stops walking for a moment to glare at Sam. “Um, is it necessary for you to be speaking to me right now? I am seriously not in the mood to have any conversations with anyone right now.”

  
  


Her polite yet icy tone chills Sam to the core. “Uh - s-sure, that’s fine.” Emily responds by pulling her phone out of her pocket, complete with earbuds, and burying herself into music so loud Sam can hear the bass thumping from nearly three feet away. This does nothing to lighten the mood; if anything, it only makes the walk more tense and eerie. She’s not a paranoid girl by any means, but… well, she’s almost certain that something in the woods is following them, watching them from the shadows with round bulbous eyes…

  
  


This walk can not be over fast enough.

  
  


  
  


  
  


|------- ▼ \-------|

  
  


  
  


  
  


They almost do not see the lodge ahead of them. It isn’t until the trees seem to vanish from before them that they even consider that they’ve arrived. Sam doesn’t hide her relief. Her legs are aching; her toes and fingers are numb. Emily is lost in her music, and even Ashley and Jessica are stumbling in awkward silence, having run out of things to talk about about twenty minutes ago. The guys are already there, laughing and joking and throwing snowballs. One hits Jessica in the shoulder. Matt freezes, eyes locked on Emily, but Mike saves the day by striking a pose and thundering, “And the winner iiiiiiis - testicles, by exactly fourteen minutes, thirty-seven seconds! Well done, testicles! What’s your prize? Free snowball assault on any opposing teammate of his choosing! I choose Miss Jessica Riley! Come on up, Miss Riley, and collect your royalty-free snowballs!”

  
  


Jessica laughs, but it’s weak and almost wheezy. “Thanks, Mike, but I’m taking a rain check. If I don’t get inside and take a hot bath within the next five minutes, I am literally going to die.”

  
  


“Oh my god, same…” Emily pushes her way to Matt and huddles against his chest, shivering almost dramatically. “Can we please go inside now? Seriously, what are we waiting for?”

  
  


Matt wraps his arm around her . “I have no idea. Chris and Josh aren’t letting us in. They say there’s some sort of surprise that they have to finish setting up.”

  
  


Jessica, not to be outdone, flounces to Mike and plants a kiss not quite sexy but just enough to be blatantly seductive on his lips. “And you let them? Babe, you should know that I can’t handle the cold. Can’t you just break the door down with those big, sexy muscles of yours?” She drags her fingers slowly down his chest, twirling them through imaginary chest hair.

  
  


Mike drapes his arm over her shoulder gallantly. “Don’t worry, Jess. I’ll keep you warm out here.”

  
  


“I’m more in a PG-13 mood right now, so can you two just not?” Emily glares at them from her comfortable spot against Matt’s side. “I mean, Josh said there was a guest cabin literally fifty feet that way. Just go over there to get your nasty-ass rocks off. Just - Mike? Wear a condom, okay? I don’t want your nuts falling off from slut-orrhea.”

  
  


“Em.” Matt’s voice is quiet, but Sam can hear the warning tone. “Please don’t. Not today.”

  
  


“Not my fault she can’t keep her legs closed.” Em shrugs and closes her eyes to snuggle even closer. “But seriously, what’s taking them so long?”

  
  


Sam and Ash sit on the stairs leading to the heavy wooden doors and again huddle together for warmth. Emily looks like she wants to make another snide comment but keeps her mouth shut. Sam rubs Ash’s arms as the shorter redhead shivers against her chest. “You didn’t bring a heavy coat, did you?”

  
  


“I had to loan it to Dustin. He’s picked up a job shoveling snow for the county and one of his friends from school stole his.” She shrugs as if she doesn’t care. “It’s not a big deal. I get my paycheck while I’m up here, so I’ll just buy another one. What do you think the surprise is?”

  
  


Sam shakes her head. “I have no idea, but it can’t be good if Chris and Josh are behind it.” Any pranks - and this has to be a prank - orchestrated by the Dream Team may not physically harm the victims, but they aren’t the kindest.

  
  


̶N̶o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶p̶r̶a̶n̶k̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶s̶ ̶p̶l̶a̶y̶e̶d̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶H̶a̶n̶n̶a̶h̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶.̶

  
  


The group is completely divided now, with Jessica and Mike leaning against the small stone fence that framed one side of the clearing and Matt and Emily standing closer to the forest. Sam stares absently into the woods, not even listening to Ashley talking about her foster siblings. Snow scatters through the wind joining the snowfall filling their footprints on the path. Eyes glisten in the trees; they look like a deer, but there is a strange glint to them. Just the reflection of the light - and it has to be a reflection - makes her skin crawl. Ashley feels her shiver and begins to rub her arm gently.

  
  


“Ayyyyyyy, we’re all here! It’s about fuh-reaking time!”

  
  


Ash and Sam twist around to see Josh at the top of the stairs, striking a dramatic pose. “It is my grrrrreatest pride - ” Pause. “And deepest pleaSURE - ” Another pause. “That we welcome you tonight. And now we invite you to relax, let us pull up a chair as Josh Washington proudly presents - ” He takes a step down and flings his arms out. “ - the annual Blackwood winter getaway!” Now his arms fly up over his head to punch the air with his fists. “Whoo! Yeah! All riiiiiight!”

  
  


“Jesus, Josh, take it down a notch, dude.” Ashley’s body stiffens in her arms. Sam has to stifle a giggle. She twists around to face Josh and Chris. Chris…seems to have changed. He’s gone from a hipster to a commando, having traded his plaid flannel for what seems to be about seven layers of green, blue, and white shirts and sweaters. She smirks up at them. “Jeez, Chris, got enough clothes on?”

  
  


He rolls his eyes and flips her off, but he’s masking a grin. Josh, never one to shy away from drama, flings his arms out again. “My friends! Welcome, once again, to the ever illustrious Washington Lodge! Come one, come all, to our annual Blackwood winter getaway, where you will get absolutely trashed as weeeeeee - ” He has to pause for a moment so he can truly savor his favorite line ever - “party - like - porn stars!”

  
  


“Can you stop being a drama queen for, like, ten seconds so we can get inside and warm the hell up?” Jess calls. She preens slightly as the rest of the group erupts in quiet snickers. “Seriously, my fingers are about to fall off. I need a bath and a hot chocolate with bourbon, stat.”

  
  


Josh laughs. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

  
  


Emily straightens, pulling away from Matt to stare at Josh with confusion. “What do you mean?”

  
  


“You’ll figure it out. C’mon, come inside.” He gestures to the doors behind him, but his movements are ignored as the other six all but trample their way up the stairs. Emily shoves him aside; he stumbles and grabs the wooden railing to regain his balance and keep himself from topping to his absolute certain death to the ground nearly six feet below. “Hey, hey! Respect for the super genius, man!”

  
  


“Are you pulling a 4.0 GPA? I think not. Respect your queen, Joshie.” She smirks back at him, pausing just long enough to flip her hair over her shoulder. He bends into a theatrical bow, nearly smacking Jessica in the face with his outstretched hand. Mike grabs his wrist and tugs lightly; Josh totters down a few stairs into Sam. His face stretches into a huge smile. “Sammy bird! Hey! I’m super glad you made it.” He gently grabs her elbow. “Can I - can I talk to you a moment?”

  
  


“Sure.” She’s not-so-secretly glad to see him too. She’s been worried about him. They haven’t truly spoken beyond little small-talk texts in almost four months. She is almost certain he hasn’t taken his meds in longer than that. His mother had called her once to ask her some interesting questions about him - questions she had been neither able nor willing to answer. She follows him down the stairs and around to the side of the house, where they are shielded from the wind and heavy snowfall. “What’s up, Joshie?”

  
  


He has his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders hunched slightly. “I just…I wanted to say… Look.” He sighs heavily. “Dr. Hill says I need to be more open with my emotions and…”

  
  


“Josh, you don’t - ”

  
  


“Just shut up and listen a sec, okay?” He takes a deep breath and rushes into it, stumbling over every word. “You’ve been there for me through all of that - that Beth and Hannah shit, and I guess I really should - look, I just really appreciate it. And I’m so glad you came. I was afraid you wouldn’t since I’ve been kind of an ass lately and I am just super happy that you were able to come and - ” He abruptly throws his arms around her and pulls her into a tight hug. “Thanks, Sam. For everything.”

  
  


He releases her just as suddenly and steps back, clearing his throat. “Well then, that’s over with. I’m shitty with anything super emotional. Anyway…” He points at the building with both hands flipped into finger guns. “Party time. Whoo?”

  
  


Sam smiles in relief. She flings her hands into the air and shrieks, “Whooooohooo!” into the sky. He laughs and joins her, and for thirty full seconds, as they howl like demented wolves, everything is right with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Josh and Sam have the most awkward bonding moment that I can realistically write. And then turn into fucking wolves because why not?
> 
> Emily and Jess need to cut their shit out, man. Hopefully soon, they can find something to take out their anger on - besides each other. 
> 
> EDIT: I completely forgot until just now! "Sammy-bird" is a nickname used by gentlemanadventurer. I do not take credit for this perfectly fitting name. If asked to remove, I will do so and I will apologize profusely. I am sorry it took me so long to remember.
> 
> Would have posted Thursday but struggled with...yeah, you'll probably see where I struggled. I never got it fixed and just said 'screw it'. My beta reader (aka my fiance) is the least helpful when it comes to actually beta reading so he is grounded for at least an hour.
> 
> Coming soon:  
> \- ...they're teens alone in the woods. There's gonna be booze and drugs and sex and just... it's a horror movie, okay?  
> \- "Have you seen them? I can't find them anywhere..."  
> \- I swear there are eyes in that forest...  
> \- Ellipses for days...


	3. Your Words Are Gelignite

#  Your Words Are Gelignite

It is dark inside the lodge.  The walls block what little moonlight there is, so the room is steeped with shadows.  It's so creepy; it doesn't feel at all like the lodge she's come to every winter since seventh grade.  Even though the Washingtons haven't rearranged in years, she doesn't attempt to walk around.  She doesn't trust herself to not trip, and she doesn't want to fall.  Instead, she leans into Josh's side - for balance, she tells herself sternly - and lets him drape an arm over her shoulder.  He hugs her closer, just for a second, but it sends shivers down her spine.  She should pull away.  They're friends - just friends.  But she still doesn't try to leave.

 

"God, why is it so cold?"  Jess is somewhere near the couch.  Her teeth are chattering loudly enough that Sam can hear it, but it sounds...forced, somehow.  She hears a shuffle before Mike says, "Here, babe.  Take my jacket."  She's surprised - but she shouldn't be.  Mike may be a player, but every one of his girlfriends attest to the fact that he's quite a gentleman when he is going steady.  Jess purrs her thanks, just a hint of smugness in her voice.

 

Emily's response is immediate.  " Matt, sweetie, I'm cold too."

 

"Well, damn, Emmy, I don't control the weather!"  He's trying to joke - to recreate that one scene from...shit, she doesn't even remember the show.  But nobody else laughs.  He tries to, but it is weak, forced.  After several uncomfortable seconds, he meekly shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders, mumbling an apology.  She slips her arms into it but doesn't speak.

 

Josh clears his throat and unwraps his arm from Sam's shoulders. "Well.  Uh.  Okay."  He pushes his way forward and lights his lighter.  It fills a small area with a warm, orange glow.  He dodges around the lumpy old armchair and climbs atop the glass coffee table.  Ashley takes a deep breath as though she's about to speak but she decides not to, her lips pursing shut with a worried frown.  Josh doesn't notice. "Ladies and gentle-jocks, it is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that I welcome you tonight.  And now, I invite you to relax - go pull up a chair - as Josh Washington proudly presents the Annual Blackwood Winter Getaway!"  Sam and Ashley clap.  Mike cheers, thrusting his fist into the air.  Josh, encouraged by the response, flings his arms into the air.  The sudden movement knocks him off-balance and into the couch.  He leaps back upright and shoves his hands right back up into the air. "We got a whole week 'til school starts again, and New Year's Eve is tomorrow.  Time to party like porn stars!" 

 

This time, everybody cheers.

 

Chris steps forward and claps his hands together.  " All right.  Can't party like porn stars in a frozen cave.  Josh, you go downstairs and see if you can't turn on the power.  Matt, Mike, you go get the booze.  I'm gonna find the food the Washingtons left because I guarantee Josh didn't bring any food."

 

"Hey now," Josh protests, "give me some credit!  There are at least three bags of chips and a whole box of pizza rolls."

 

"That's...more than I was expecting."  Chris turns to Sam and Ashley.  " You two figure something out in here.  Ashley, you're good at interior design.  Make this place party central so when we all get wasted, we don't trip over the couch and puke in the booze."  Ashley's face turns bright pink in the dim light of Josh's lighter; she nods furiously.  He doesn't seem to notice.  " Jess, Em, you take bags up to rooms.  I guess we should all use the same rooms we had last time?"

 

"No!"  Em and Mike simultaneously protest.  Mike doesn't let Emily continue.  " I say we pick rooms all together.  Saves time.  Plus, didn't Josh say a couple rooms were still fucked up from the ice storm last month?  We have to bundle up."

 

Josh sends an air-kiss at Chris.  " All my dreams are finally coming true!  You and me, Chris.  Just like fourth grade.  I still got that good old twin bed.  We can both fit if we...snuggle in real close."

 

"I'm good, thanks."

 

"Oh come on, you're totally gay for me."

 

"I am extremely not."  Chris turns away, but his face is red.  Josh grins impishly and turns to Sam.  His face becomes serious as he drops to one knee and takes her hand gently between his.  The room is still.  The tension, already strong, is growing rapidly in intensity.  She can feel everyone holding their breaths.  Ashley whispers, "Oh my god!" in a hushed squeak.  After several hour-long seconds, he asks the question: "Samantha Giddings - will you join me in my quest to the Basement of Doom, to battle unknown monsters and risk our lives to return heat and warm water to these helpless souls in The Lodge Above?"

 

The tense silence immediately becomes less tense and more stunned.  After a moment, Mike and Chris crack up, Mike doubling over and wheezing.  Sam's face flushes with heat.  She totally knew that he wasn’t really proposing.  She knew that.  So why is her heart racing?  She smiles weakly and takes his hand.  “ Sir Josh of the Washington Lodge, I accept your offer and would be delighted to aid you in your quest.”

 

Josh grins in delight and leaps to his feet.  She swears that he squeezes her hand but it’s over so quickly that she dismisses it as imagination.  It is her imagination.  It has to be.  “ Delightful!   Come, Lady Giddings, so that we may begin our most grand adventure!  Tally ho!”

 

“ _Will you just go!”_

 

They book it to the basement, hand in hand, giggling like schoolchildren.

 

 

 

|-------▼-------|

 

 

 

The basement is even darker than the lounge.  It is reminiscent of a normal basement with boxes and shelves dividing the room into unruly hallways and rooms.  Sam resists the urge to grab his hand as Josh leads her through the eerie maze, brandishing a flashlight like a can of mace.  She cohoses instead to hug herself tightly.  She refuses to look around.  Their movement is kicking up clouds of dust that make it look like they are wading through thick fog, and she seen enough horror movies to know where that leads, thank you.  She quickens her pace to hound his ankles.  She’s a little too close - Josh trips and stumbles forward into a stack of boxes, right into the arms of a - a person?

 

“Gah!”  He struggles free and shoves as hard as he can, stumbling backwards.  The flashlight rolls to a stop against an overtunred box, illuminating two thick, heavy work boots.  Sam huddles against his side as he stands before her like a human shield, arms outstretched to protect her.  They are frozen; she wants to run but cannot move.  Her every muscle is frozen with pure terror.  She thinks she can see the figure’s outline swaying, broad shoulders heaving in time with her own ragged breathing.  She lightly presses her hand against Josh’s side; he is tense, firm as a rock, completely contrasting her own uncontrollable shaking.  He begins to edge forward. “Josh, no - “ she whispers hoarsely, wincing at how loudly her words ring in her ears.

 

He ignores you. “Who are you?” he shouts, his voice bouncing off the thick concrete walls. “What are you doing here?”  His voice is quivering, but his tone is more angry than afraid.  His fists are balled at his side.  His chest is heaving.  This show of bravado doesn’t relax Sam, nor does it make her feel safe.  If anything, she’s more scared now.  Her eyes drop to the weak beam of the flashlight and are drawn to the feet. “How did you get into my house?  Fucking answer me!”  In the harsh white light, the feet look terrifying.  They shouldn’t.  They’re just a pair of workman’s leather boots, worn and caked with mud.  One of the seams is split completely open.  The left boot is splattered with dark red pain.   _Maybe it’s bl_ - No.  No, it’s pain.  It is fucking paint.

 

Josh creeps forward.  Sam tries to stop him, she truly does, but her hand is moving so slowly.  It’s like being in a nightmare, where everything around her is moving normally but she is trapped in cold molasses.  She can only watch helplessly as he inches forward.  He suddenly lunges, tackling the intruder to the floor.  Sam shrieks.   _Crack!_  Josh yelps in pain and jerks back, shaking his hand.  Sam doesn’t remember leaping forward, but within a moment she is stumbling backward, the flashlight trembling in her hand, aimed directly at their faces.

 

“It’s a mannequin.”  Josh stares into its lifeless painted eyes with an expression that can only be described as numb.  “ It’s a fucking mannequin.”

 

Sam is laughing.   She doesn’t know why.  It doesn’t even sound like her - it’s shrill and annoying and almost giddy ( _haha get it, Giddings is giddy_ ) oh god why can’t she stop?  Why can’t she stop laughing?  It’s not funny; it’s fucking horrifying.  She should be screaming or crying or curled up in the fetal position but instead here she is, giggling uncontrollably for no reason whatsoever.  

 

Josh picks up the mannequin, sets it gingerly back onto its feet, dusts the jacket off slightly.  Then, he punches it as hard as he can.  It topples backwards, crashing into a shelf and some old boxes behind it.  He claps his hands together to dust them off and turns back to Sam, who is still laughing uproariously.  She can see his face in the pale streams of dusty light - he’s pale and trembling so hard that he might actually be having a seizure.  It is the wild panic in his eyes that stop Sam’s laughter almost in its track.  

 

Her dad hit a deer with his car once.  It all happened in slow motion, yet it is all a blur.  She remembers very little about that night, other than her mom had to go to the hospital for some stitches across her forehead and that it is the night she decided to become vegan.  There is one thing she remembers with utter, absolute clarity.  Right before the impact, everything slowed down so much, just like in the movies, and she could see the buck’s face.  He stared directly into her eyes - looking back, she realizes that was impossible, but it felt so real, so true - he stared into her eyes with pure, unadulterated panic and rage.  It was a helpless rage, the rage of someone who cannot do anything and hates it with a passion.

 

She can see that same look in Josh’s eyes.

 

It passes quickly.  As soon as she stops laughing, the dark glint fades within seconds to absolute nothing.  He grins sheepishly.  “ Sorry.  I, uh, panicked a little bit.  Mom and Dad said there’s be nobody here this weekend, so seeing someone in the creepy basement of death was a little nerve-wracking.”

 

Sam laughs again, but this time, it’s more of a weak wheeze.  “ Yeah.  I kinda froze.  I felt like we were in some kind of fucked up horror movie, like the ones your dad makes.”

 

He bends over to grab the flashlight.  “ I feel like you’re trying to insult my dad’s work, but I’m failing to see which part was an insult.  My dad works hard to make his shit fucked up, you know?”

 

They walk together in silence for several minutes, winding around shelves and piles of boxes.  It’s like a maze, honestly - she wants to joke about ‘who makes a basement maze’ but then she remembers that it was Hannah and Beth, as a place to play laser tag when they were twelve and she swallows her words like a dry bitter pill.  Josh wants to say something, she can see that in the way he fidgets, but he doesn’t say a word, and she doesn’t pry.  

 

They finally stop before a tiny metal door that she honestly would have missed if she had been alone.  Josh pulls it open and glares at the levers and knobs. “Oh-kay.”  He claps his hands together and leans forward, wiggling slightly in that ‘man preparing for hard work’ way.  She wants to grab his butt and squeeze - as a joke, as a _joke_ - but keeps her hands to herself. “You have an important job,” he informs her over his shoulder. “Hold that flashlight right here.  Up a little - no, left - leeeeeft - andstopdon’tmove, that’s perfect.”  She does her best to hold still as he fiddles with the equipment.  She honestly doesn’t want to get her hopes up - he may know cameras and movie equipment, but what does he know about boilers and generators?

 

Apparently enough, because there is a sudden roar.  She jumps.  It fades to a whir.  The lights flicker, then sputter, then stay on.  He cheers; she grins and throws her arms around him in a hug.  He returns the hug with one of his own, wrapping his arms around her and gently squeezing.  They stand there like this for nearly a full minute before the generator grumbles and dies, taking the glaring white fluorescent lights with it and bathing them in darkness once again.  They don’t move for several seconds, although she has no idea whether it is fear of what is in the sudden darkness or just the warmth and comfort that keeps them together at this point.  

 

Josh finally pulls away and turns back to the generator. “I - think it might actually be out of gas.”

 

“You’re kidding, right?”  Sam hugs her chest again, feeling much colder now.  It’s as if the darkness came with a vengeance and brought with it a dark, evil presence that is now watching them from the shadows.  

 

“’fraid not.”  He flicks the gas meter twice before straightening again with a heavy sigh.  “ Gonna have to go out to the cabin and get more, maybe even just use the generator out there.  Mom and Dad are really terrible about keeping this place fueled.  I can call in the morning and get more shipped up.  For tonight we’re just gonna have to hope there’s some out by the cabin.”  He takes a step back, as though suddenly wary.  “ That…also means there’s no hot water.”  

 

She stares at him.  His hands fly up to protect his chest, and he flinches, ready for the punch he clearly thinks is coming.  Instead of hitting him, she groans and turns away.  “ Ugh!  I was so looking forward to a nice hot bath when we get out of this creepy basement.”  She sighs heavily and turns back to him; he’s staring at her like he’s never seen her before.  “ …what?”

 

“You’re not super pissed?”

 

“…no?  Should I be?  I can fake it, if you want.”

 

He grins sheepishly, hesitantly.  “ I prefer my anger to be 100% authentic, thanks.  I pride myself in making every single girl I’ve ever been with pissed.”

 

Sam laughs.  Josh steps forward; her laughs dwindles to a breathless squeak.  He’s standing so close that she can feel the heat from his chest against hers.  Her heart is racing again, but this time, it’s not fear.  He reaches up to gently run the tips of his fingers down her cheek.  She presses her cheek into his hand.  He pulls her closer as he leans in.  His breath is so hot on her lips.  “ You know, Sam…  I just wanted to say...”

 

Why is her stomach in knots?  “ What...?”  It comes out as a murmur.  She can feel her entire body growing warm, but not with embarrassment.

 

“It really means a lot to me that everyone came back this year and… you know...”  He pauses for a long moment.  “ …that you came, Sam.”

 

She wants to kiss him.  She wants to lean forward that final centimeter, to press her lips against his, but she’s frozen.  She can barely breathe.   _Focus.  Focus._  She leans back slightly.  “ Josh, we're here for you. Really. Whatever you need. Whenever. We're all gonna make it through this... together.”  She smiles bravely.  That was easy…right?

 

Josh leans forward, closing the distance she created  “ .…I want us to have a good time, you know...”

 

Their lips are touching.  Not mashed together, no - just grazing.  It’s driving her crazy.  She wants more.  She leans forward, but he pulls back, pulls away completely.  She opens her eyes to see him staring behind them. “Did you hear that?”  Disappointment squeezes her stomach, but she pulls away from his grip to step forward, aiming the flashlight into the cloudy dark.  She doesn’t hear anything, doesn’t see anything.  There’s nothing here, she _knows_ this, but after what happened with the mannequin, she has to be sure.  She’s already going to have nightmares from that creepy blank stare.

 

A figure leaps around the corner, arms raised.  She screams and drops the flashlight.  The figure stops, staring at her; it’s swathed in what looks like an old robe and a hockey mask.  Then he raised his arms and roared, an almost ungodly sound.  Sam screams again and turns to flee.  Josh grabs her arm and pulls her along - _god, how he is so fast?  He doesn’t even work out!_ - shouting something about another staircase.  They sprint around boxes and shelves; he trips once and almost takes her down with him, but she pulls him back up and they continue.  The monk is right at their heels; she rips a box off a shelf as she passes and silently celebrates when she hears cursing behind her.  Up the stairs, up the stairs, there’s the door and it’s - locked?

 

“Oh, come  _on_ !” she wails, beating on the door, trying to force it open.  “ Why are these doors locked?”

 

Josh doesn’t answer for a few seconds, but when he does, his voice is quiet and hard. “To keep out strangers.”  He turns away from her and plants himself between her and the monk.  The figure is creeping up the stairs one at a time, tossing a baseball bat between each hand - how the fuck did he get a baseball bat?  She vaguely remembers running past one and curses quietly.  Why didn’t she grab it?  Stupid, _stupid_ , and now he has it and _fuck_ -

 

She is about to scream when the monk suddenly starts laughing, chortling quietly, each laugh getting louder and more raucous until he’s doubled over, losing it. “What - ?” she whispers.  He stands up straight, holds his arms out in celebration. “What the hell - ?”  Her voice is a hoarse rasp from the screaming.  The monk rips the hood nad mask off his face and shakes out his hair. “Boom!  You just got monked!”  

 

Josh begins to laugh weakly, shaking his finger at Chris. “You - Nice.  Nice one.  That was good.”

 

Sam steps forward. “What - why would you _do_ that?”  She is - is pissed the right word?  No.  It’s too tame.  She wants to push him down the stairs, she wants to slap him, she wants to kick him and hit him and punch him and - but she won’t.  Instead she balls her hands into tight little fists at her side.  Josh and Chris are high-fiving and laughing.  She forces a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, yeah, you got us good.  Congratulations.  Can we please just go now?  I have to pee like a racehorse.”

 

She follows at their heels without a word, trying to block out their laughter and jokes.  Ashley starts laughing as they enter the lounge again.  “ What... in god's name... are you wearing?”

 

Chris raises his arms in prayer.  “ I found my true calling.”

 

She responds by pressing her hands together in a mock steeple of prayer. “Please tell me you're going to take a vow of silence.”  Sam grins from the couch.  Ooh, Ashley is getting sassy.  Does this mean she’s finally getting the confidence to actually saying something about liking Chris?  God, she hopes so.  That girl has been crushing on Chris for almost as long as Hannah was crushing on Mike.  She winces at the memory and stands up. “Hey - Josh!  I thought we were partying!  Where’s the booze?”

 

“Shit!”  Josh yelps, leaping off the coffee table and sprinting to the kitchen.

 

“Did you forget?” she calls after him.

 

“No!  Shut up!”

 

“He totally forgot.”  Mike tosses a can at a nearby trash can and misses.  Matt picks it up and tosses it back.  It takes four tries for Mike to sink the shot.  He leaps to his feet and punches the air. “Yes!  Ladies and gentlemen, you are standing in the presence of your future favorite NBA star!  Move over, Shaquille O'Neal - step aside, LeBron James - fuck off, Michael Jordan - here comes Michael Munroe!”

 

Without a word, Matt scoops out the can, walks over to Mike, and tosses it.  It lands in the trash can with a clink.  Mike glowers for a moment, then grins and drapes his arm over Matt’s shoulder.  “ Not bad, kid, not bad.  Looks like someone’s on the fast track to becoming my understudy!”  He yelps and stumbles backward as a bottle of rum flies at his head.  Matt catches it, laughing, and pops it open.  “ Says the guy who can’t catch booze if it was flying at his head.  Which is what literally just happened.”  He takes a swig and passes it to Jessica, ignoring Emily’s icy stare.  “ Hey.  Remind your husband who the jock in the group is.”

 

Josh sits down beside Sam and offers her a bottle of vodka. “Here, Sammy-bird.  It’s vegan.”  She accepts the bottle and the shot glass. “So…about earlier.”  She doesn’t respond, pretending to be too busy opening the bottle to notice what he said. “I - I got a little…um…I did mean it, though.”  He smiles faintly. “You, uh, gonna share that?”

 

She doesn’t know what to say.  She doesn’t know how to respond.  She pours him a shot without a word and tosses back one, two, three in quick succession.  Josh watches, wincing after the third one.  “ Christ, Sam.  Didn’t know you could do that without a chaser.  You sure you don’t want a soda or something?”  She nods.  She is gagging, her mouth and throat on fire.  Good vodka may taste miles better than shitty vodka, but they both still burn the same.  He opens a two-liter of cola and offers it to her; she chugs it gratefully.  

 

The night is a blur.  There is music for a while.  There is dancing.  There is screaming and laughing.  She vaguely remembers telling Mike, Jess, Em, and Matt to get a room - together or separate, she doesn’t care, but she’s tired of watching the make-out pissing contest between the two girls.  The remaining four play Clue and Uno and Cards Against Humanity and, eventually, it is just two.

 

Then she starts feeling sick and switches to water while she and - and - god, she can’t even see their face, she can’t hear their voice, the words just sort of appear in her head several seconds after the lips move.

 

And now she’s in a soft bed with a warm body pressing up against her, lips nibbling and kissing, fingers searching, moans and gasps and soft little sighs and warmth and oh _god_ _-_

 

And now she’s drifting off to sleep with warm strong arms around her and a strong chest pressing against her naked back, and she hasn’t been so comfortable since last year when she and Beth slept just like this -

 

And now she’s sobbing uncontrollably, the only other sound being soft, gentle snores in her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gahh! I'm so sorry this took so long. My computer (mixed with three user-operator-errors) ensured that none of my save files existed for longer than three minutes.
> 
> But it's finally done, and I can now breathe a sigh of relief.
> 
> Coming up:  
> \- Hangovers  
> \- Why is there STILL no power?  
> \- Um, did you put that there? Creepy...  
> \- Someone is definitely watching us...


	4. We're Catching Bullets in Our Teeth

 

# 

“Yeah, this thing is definitely out of gas.”

 

“How do you know?  You don’t know generators.”

 

Matt points at the generator.  “ It’s got a gas gauge, like a car.  It’s on E.  That means it’s empty.”

 

Mike sighs and kicks the generator lightly. “Well, shit.  I was definitely not wanting to spend this week hungover in the dark and the cold.”  He shoves his hands in his pockets and glowers at the ground.  This week was supposed to be fun.  This week was supposed to be about partying and getting over what happened last year.  He’s not gonna lie, being out in the same woods that Hannah and Beth vanished in is a little creepy.  He also won’t deny that he keeps glancing around for any sign of them, even though he knows he won’t find anything.  Could this be called hope?  He just wants to find any kind of sign - Hannah’s watch, Beth’s jacket, a phone - anything.  

 

Matt stands up and backs away from the generator, peering up at the sky.  “ Those are some pretty nasty clouds, dude.  I think we’re gonna get a snowstorm.”

 

Mike groans and runs a hand through his already tousled hair.   “Great.  Fantastic.  How long do you think we have?”  

 

Matt isn’t a meteorologist.  He’s a football player, a jock.  He doesn’t study this crap.  Still, he does his best.  Tilting his head back to squint at the sky, he mutters incomprehensibly to himself for a few seconds, then nods as decisively as faking it can muster. “Well, judging by the - the puffiness and coloration of those - um - cunnilingus clouds - I’d say it won’t start until about - “  He jerks back as a large snowflake flutters straight into his eye. “ - now.  It’s starting now.  Um, let’s go inside.”

 

Mike stalls.  “ There’s no power, dude.  We should go back to the lodge.  What if we get snowed in and can’t get out for days?” 

 

“You’re paranoid.  It’s not gonna be a big storm, it’ll be like twenty minutes of snow.  We’ll be fine.”  Matt smiles encouragingly, but he doesn’t feel confident.  It’s going to be more than twenty minutes, he knows that, but… walking back is a bad idea.  The police theorized that’s what happened to Hannah and Beth.  They wandered in a snowstorm, lost, afraid, freezing…  He’s not about to star in the all-new, one-night-only showing of “Hannah And Beth’s Demise - a Re-Imagining”.

 

Mike still hesitates. “I dunno, man.  I heard that up here, if it looks like it’s gonna be a light snow, it’s actually lying to you and you’re gonna die of heartburn…freezer…death.”  Matt chuckles at that description.  Mike continues stubbornly, “I’m serious, Taylor.  We’re gonna die if we stay out here.  We have got to go.  If we leave now, we could make it back to the lodge before - “

 

“Before what, Munroe?  Before we wander around in the storm for hours, lost and freezing?  Every step we take instantly filling with snow.  We have no idea where we are, we have no idea where we’re going, and I guarantee you within twenty minutes - “  Matt didn’t realize he was shouting and lowers his voice to an almost inaubile murmur. “ - within twenty minutes, we’re gonna end up just like Hannah and Beth.”

 

Mike doesn’t flinch.  Mike doesn’t throw a punch, even though he really wants to.  He takes a long, slow, deep breath and forces his fists to unball at his sides.  “ Okay.  We can stay here for a while.  I say we grab some firewood before we go in, though… just in case.”  He pushes past Matt and starts grabbing heavy logs.  Matt joins him without a word and helps him stack the logs high before filling his own arms.  Mike kicks down the door; they dump the wood next to the fireplace and bring in another two armfuls before they call it quits and shut the door.  

 

By now, the snow is pouring down like a blanket filling the air.  Mike will never admit it, but he’s grateful Matt won the argument.  It’s a twenty minute walk back to the lodge, and grabbing the firewood took them only about ten.  They would not have made it.  Neither of them know the path that well.  He wanders about the room, exploring every nook and cranny as Matt struggles with lighting the fire.  It’s an interesting little place - cozier than he thought it would be, bigger than he’d imagined…  yeah, he’s okay with chilling here for a few hours.  He tugs the shotgun off the wall, checks to make sure there are no bullets (mama didn’t raise no fool), then snaps it shut and spins it wildly. “This town ain’t big enough for the two of us, cowboy.”

 

Matt tosses in a log and laughs.  “ You are the worst outlaw I’ve ever heard, and I don’t even watch those shitty cowboy movies.”

 

Mike aims at Matt, making sure to keep his finger off the trigger.  “ Don't care a continental drift, crowbait.  Draw yer rickshaw or get a wiggle on outta here!”

 

Matt is now doubled over on the floor, wheezing in his attempts to breathe while simultaneously laughing.  Mike grinned, mimes pulling an imaginary trigger, then lowers the weapon.  “ Jesus, Matt, don’t have a heart attack.  Get that fire going.  It’s cold as balls in here.”  He returns the shotgun to the wall and continues snooping around for a few minutes.  It isn’t until his third time around the lounge that he finds the weird bump on the old painting of the family.  It’s Hannah’s nose; he always knew that Hannah had a cute little button nose, but isn’t it odd that it literally sticks out of the painting?  He pushes it; there is a click and the painting swings outward, like an old safe door.  He grins and punches the air.  “ Score!”  

 

“What?”

 

“Booze!  There’s a shit ton of booze in here!”  He grabs three beers and shuts the painting to keep the cold in before walking back to the couch and sinking in with a groan.  He stares out the window as he struggles to pop the cap with only his thumb, like the badasses in movies.  The window is pure white.  He can’t tell if the snow is falling so thickly that nobody can see through it or if the drifts have risen so high that they already engulf the house.  Not for the first time, he realizes that Matt was right.  They would never have made it.

 

He’s not about to say that, though.

 

“Finally!”  Matt stands up and breathes a heavy sigh of relief as a small flame begins to smolder and lick the topmost log.  It’s not a great fire, but give it time.  Soon enough, it will fill the cabin with the good old familiar warmth that was so perfectly shown in that old Little House on the Prairie show.  He drops onto the couch beside Mike and steals his beer, ignoring the protests.  “ I worked hard to bring us fire.  I am the superior caveman.  I get first beer.”  He twists the cap off with ease and takes a long swig of the refreshing cold fizz.  

 

“Shitty fire though.  I’m still freezing.”  Mike gives up and hands Matt the beer to open.  They sit in silence for the better part of an hour, drinking and staring out the window.  The fire soon roars to life, filling the cabin with heat as promised.  That mixed with the alcohol soon has Mike peeling off his vest, his flannel jacket, his scarf, his shirt… now he’s just sitting silently in a white tank top and jeans.  Matt is more modest and only removes his outer layers.  He twists around slightly to face Mike, noticing how his rugged face is flushed and he’s got the slightest tipsy grin twisting the corners of his lips.  “ So… what do you think about Josh?”

 

“Josh?”  Mike’s smile is gone.  He seems to sober up for a moment; he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.  “ I dunno, man.  I don’t do feelings; you know this.”

 

Matt ignores him. “I think he’s still broken up about Hannah and Beth - “  Mike swallows hard and looks away at the mention of their names. “ - but I think he’s trying to convince everyone, including himself, that he’s over it.  I think he puts on a smile for everyone so they don’t know he’s still hurting.  I think he’s tired of people asking if he’s okay, asking if they think the cops will find their bodies, so he’s pretending nothing happened and bottling everything up way deep inside until he’s completely alone so he can drink and punch the wall and cry into his pillow or something.  I think he’s trying really hard to suppress it but coming here just…fucked him up more.  He thought he was ready - “

 

“- but he wasn’t,” Mike interrupts quietly, glaring at the neck of his beer. “I don’t think anybody was ready.  We thought we were.  We’re not.  I, uh, I was heading to take a piss last night and I saw… I saw Sam in Beth’s room.  She was alone and hugging the pillow and crying - “  He swallows hard. “I dunno, man.”

 

Matt frowns. “That’s weird.  I saw her going into Josh’s room with him.  I think they - “

 

“No.”  Mike sits up abruptly, chugging the rest of the bottle and throwing it against the wall.  It doesn’t shatter, but the crack of the glass makes them both wince. “No, she didn’t.  They didn’t.  Sam’s gay, remember?  She and Beth - “

 

“I know what I saw.  I know what I heard.”  Matt cracks open two more beers and hands one to Mike. “Look, man - I don’t know why the thought of Josh and Sam hooking up upsets you so much - “

 

“Because they’re not hooking up,” Mike snaps, snatching the beer with his one unfurled fist. “They’re fucking.  That’s all it is.  Look, Matt, Josh is a piece of shit when it comes to girls.  He’s a self-centered asshole who uses chicks to get himself off, then passes out and leaves them high and - well, not dry, but you know what I mean.”  He chugs half of the bottle and slams it on the coffee table decisively. "I know Sam.  Josh isn't her type.  She's...well, I mean, she dated Beth for two years before the accident.  Doesn't that say something?"

 

"Yes, but that doesn't mean she wants to return to someone like Beth."  Matt reaches for the bottle, but Mike slaps his hand away and passes him a fresh one.  He pops it open with ease, noticing that doing so is starting to hurt his hand a little; callouses do wear down, apparently.  He takes a long swig, gagging slightly at the taste.  He does enjoy the buzz beer gives him, but the taste is reminiscent of cold piss.  He doesn't stop drinking, though. "For all we know, it was just sex.  Or she and Beth started having problems and were about to break up - how do we know?"

 

Mike smacks his fist against his palm.  " We gotta find Beth's diary.  Or Sam's, I don't care which one."

 

“How do we know they even have one?"

 

“I don't know about Sam, but I know for a fact that Beth and Hannah each kept one religiously.  It was like a nightly ritual for them or something.  I found it once.  Didn't read it, I'm not that much of an asshole - but now that she's - "  He won't say it.  Matt can see the struggle in his face.  He wants to, he wants to so badly, but to say it is to solidify the fact, to confirm that it's true, and nobody wants to do that.  It may have be a year past, but that doesn't mean some of them still have hope. “Look.  We gotta find out what was going on there.  Sam mourned, yeah, but she seemed to get over it fast.  That tells me that they had problems."

 

“Not necessarily.  She could be doing the thing that Josh is doing - bottling it up until she's alone.  I mean, you saw her last night, remember?  That tells me that she's still hurting bad."

 

“Or drinking just brought out all those feelings and shit.  Drinking does that."  Mike shrugs almost nonchalantly, but his shoulders are stiff. "I mean, I won't deny it.  Drinking last night brought back those feelings I used to have for Emily.  We didn't do anything about it - "  Are his teeth grinding on the words? " - but that doesn't mean they didn't come back.  I'm sober now - "

 

"That's bullshit and you know it."  Is he joking or is he pissy?  He can't even tell anymore.

 

“Okay, fine.  I'm starting to get drunk again.  But even now, I don't feel those emotions I felt for Emily last night.  I don't mind being her friend but I don't want her back, you feel me?"

 

Matt shrugs, taking another reluctant swig.  He's not sure what to feel, what to say.  Mike is staring at him, waiting for a response.  It was a definite show of trust to say what he did, and he shouldn't be mad - they didn't do anything and Mike is being totally honest.  That proves their level of friendship, right?  But he's still upset.  He nurses the lips of the bottle with his finger, then lifts his hand and aims a punch at Mike's face.  The taller boy slumps over the edge of the couch for a moment, then sits up and wipes the trickle of blood from his split lip. "Fair enough.  I deserve that.  Need another?"

 

Matt shakes his head.  " You know, I actually feel a lot better.   Just stay the fuck away from Emily, all right?"

 

“Mike grins.  " All right.  Cheers, man."

 

“Cheers."

 

 

 

|------- ▼ -\------|

 

 

 

 

 

"It sure is cold out, huh?"

 

Sam nods, refusing to look up, refusing to speak.  She doesn't remember last night. _-_ _but you do, you know you do, you remember him holding you and kissing you and pressing deep inside you_ _-_  No.  No.  She won't remember.  She can't remember.  It was a drunken mistake, it had to be.  Yes, she has feelings for him - but they had to be lust.  She can't imagine sleeping with him at night and raising her babies with him and telling him all her secrets, one at a time, over years and years and -

 

Josh squints at her through the reflection of the headlamp over snow.  " Hey, are you okay?  You're usually so happy and  _Giddings_ .  Get it?"  He laughs.  It echoes over the barren landscape. 

 

The snow crunches under their feet, snapping occasionally with buried, frozen twigs.  It sounds a lot like breaking bones.  

 

She shudders at the thought. "Yeah, I'm fine.  I just...I had some weird dreams last night, that's all."  And it's not a lie.  She vaguely remembers Beth's bedroom and the pillow, her favorite pillow that her grandmother had hand-stitched for her.  Beth wasn't religious, but she had _loved_ the "Live - Laugh - Love" aesthetic so much.  Her room was full of trophies and certificates, and she was a whole semester away from graduation and her dream college at Notre Dame and -

 

"Hey, Sam - "  Josh's arms are around her and she is sobbing again, on her knees in the snow, wailing into his shoulder.  He presses her face against his shoulder and his cheek is nestled into her hair.  For several minutes he holds her, allowing her to get her crying done while sober this time.  Is he going to tell her that last night, he held her in his sister's room as she sobbed into Beth's pillow and whimpered about how much she missed her, talking as though she was talking directly to Beth one last time?  Probably not.  He had shooed Jess and Ash and Chris away; he won't lie, he's a little pissy that Mike and Matt and Emily never came to check on her.  But judging from the sounds that were coming from Matt and Emily's room, he can't really blame them.  They probably didn't even hear her, the little horndogs.

 

After almost half an hour, she finally pulls away and pushes herself to her feet, wiping her face on the back of her sleeve.  " God.  I'm so sorry.  I don't know what came over me."

 

He smirks and stands up, digging a tissue - how did he know he'd need this? - out of his pocket. "It's okay, Sammybird.  You gotta let it out sometime, right?"

 

She smiles before blowing her nose loudly.  God, even her most annoying sounds are adorable.  She sounds like a truck on the highway, his horn wailing at the bratty teens in their Mustang whizzing past at double the speed limit.  ( These teens are definitely not him, by the way.  He'd like to make that perfectly clear.)  She crumples it up and hesitates for a moment before shoving it into her pocket.  " Aww, the vegan can't even litter?  You're no fun at all, are you, Giddings?" he teases as he brushes a gloved hand over his snot-covered shoulder.

 

Sam laughs weakly, then gasps. "Shit - oh god, Josh, I'm so sorry - "

 

"Sam, don't worry about it.  It's the cost of having friends."  He lightly pushes her away as she approaches with her bare hands to try to clean it up.  Mucus is worse on cold hands than tears; it doesn't dry away as quickly and takes even longer to freeze.  For all he knows, she'd get frostbite just from wiping away her own snot.  Not a thing he wants in his life, thanks.

From that point onward, the walk is awkward as hell.  Yeah, they're laughing and joking like old times, but nobody is willing get over how badly she sobbed, screaming Beth's name over and over into the cold, empty woods.  Nobody wants to admit that she's not cute and adorable when she cries.  She's ugly as sin and loud as a foghorn and he can't help but want to scream to the heavens that he loves her.

 

The cablecar station looms ahead of them like a mountain.  They stand in front of it, just staring at it like they've never seen it before, like they're a terrible cutscene in video game revealing the monster-ridden building they have to clear for the toughest mission yet. Sam clears her throat, which seems to snap Josh out of his reverie.  He claps his hands together.  " All right!  So!   Jess's  bag.  Where the fuck would she have even left it?  That material girl would never leave behind even a make up pouch."

 

Sam chuckles and starts bobbing and weaving her hips lightly to the tune of a song only she can hear. "She's a material girl in a material world - "

 

“And that's why we're here instead of her getting her damn bag."  He grins at her and steps onto the wooden stairs, offering his hand.  " Shall we?"

 

“Let's shall."

 

They enter the station, which is just as cold and barren as when she saw it yesterday.  Today, however, there is no judgement to her lateness.  Just emptiness and cold.  She shivers again and begins to search for the bag.  Under benches, closets, even in the bathrooms where she and Emily had started fighting nearly upon arrival.  She searches for nearly twenty minutes but finds nothing.  " Josh, there's nothing here."  She turns around but sees nobody, nothing.  Josh is gone.

 

“Josh?"

 

A hand clamps over her mouth with a rag.  A strange, sickly sweet smell.  She's seen enough stupid action movies to know exactly what's happening, but she fights back anyway.  Her elbow buries into the attacker's gut.  He grunts - it has to be a he, his voice is so weirdly deep - and stumbles back, but he drags her with him.  His grip is like iron.  She feels so tired.  She knows logically that it takes several minutes for chloroform to take place but she's not so sure right now, she feels so weak and tired and her arms are so heavy -

 

 

 

|------- ▼ -\------|

 

 

 

Emily can't focus.

 

She brought her textbook so in moments like these, she could attempt to study for her English Lit IV.  This is the perfect studying moment.  Josh, Sam, Mike, and Matt are gone, and Jess is in her room doing whatever is it Jess does - probably masturbating, the little slut.  The world is quiet.  She has a door open and right this very second, a little cardinal is sitting on her window sill and singing its heart out like in those old Disney Princess movies.  Snow White, she thinks?  Doesn't matter.  It's a bird, it's singing, she's in the perfect place to study and learn.  

 

But she can't.  Every time she gets more than a page in, she has to turn back because she's stopped focusing and just taken to turning pages while daydreaming.  She flips the page back almost angrily; the only thing keeping her from turning it hard enough to rip the paper is the fact that this book alone cost nearly $400.  She finally just shuts it and tosses it onto the bed, which frightens the birdie away.  Oh well.  She's no princess, anyway - no point in pretending to be.  She can still daydream, though.

 

Her room has a little bay window.  She plants herself on the window sill and stares outside.  Dark gray clouds, heavy with snow, are plastered across the sky like shitty wallpaper.  It's going to snow soon, and hard.   _Hopefully Mike makes it back soon._  No, what is she saying?  She's with Matt now, not Mike.  Matt:  the logical, reasonable, caring soul who would put his own life in danger to save a stupid butterfly.  Not Mike:  the reckless, far-less-than-genius, adorable, hunky jock who couldn't care less about stupid butterflies, thank you.  

 

God, she misses him.

 

But she has Matt now, and Jess has Mike.  She has to accept that; she has to get over him.  She doesn't want to.  They were together for a very, very long time.  Long enough that she was seriously hoping he'd propose on graduation day and they'd get married and go to college together - because he'd definitely get that scholarship, he was so tall and cute and buff and his sports skills were phenomenal, far better than Matt's -

 

_No.  You are with Matt now.  Get used to the idea, or break up with him.  Don't do to him what Mike did to you._

 

Shit.  Maybe she needs to talk to Jessica.

 

She doesn't want to.  God knows she doesn't want to.  She can't stand Jessica - which is a little amusing, considering she and Jessica used to be the best of friends ~~until she found those texts, that is, those texts that all but screamed~~ ~~"~~ ~~We are fucking behind your back"~~.  Emily sighs heavily, reaching out to catch the heavy puffy snowflakes in her hand.

 

Oh shit, it's snowing.

 

Hopefully  _Matt_ is able to make it home safely.

 

Until then...well, she's going to have plenty of time to talk to Jessica, won't she?

 

Emily allows herself a single groan before she stands up and walks out the door.  She takes her sweet time meandering down the hallway, making sure to investigate and think carefully on every single item on the way - almost as if she was in a videogame.  It takes all of four minutes, thirty-seven seconds to arrive at Jessica's door, where she can hear absolutely nothing.  Maybe Jess is asleep, or reading - hah!  Fat chance - or _something_ to keep her busy enough to prevent her from answering the door.

 

_Tap, tap, tap._

 

“Come in.”  Her voice…it makes Emily uneasy.  It sounds husky and deep, almost like she’s auditioning for a porno.  She cracks the door open slightly, just enough that she should be able to just call in to announce herself, but she can’t resist taking a peek.  Jessica’s hair is curled and down, her face framed in bright red lipstick and dark eyeshadow.  She’s sprawled seductively across the bed, in that good old “Paint me like one of your French girls” pose.   ~~Oh no, she’s hot…~~ “Um - It’s me.  It’s Emily.”

 

There’s a shuffle as Jessica scrambles to cover up.  “ God, what do  _you_ want?"

 

Shit.  Okay.  Emily pushes open the door and enters slowly, making sure to keep the door wide open and her escape route clear.  Jessica is clutching a blanket to her breasts, her knees to her chin, but Em can still see the soft red lace on her shoulders.  " I...wanted to talk, for a minute.  It won't take long, I promise."

 

"Are you going to be a little cunt?  Because I've got no patience for that amount of bullshit right now, thanks."

 

"No.  I don't plan to, unless you start shit."  Emily pauses and takes a long, deep breath.  This isn't about fighting like children.  This is about talking, like adults.  " Look.  I...I feel like you need to know that I still have feelings for Mike."

 

"Excuse me?  You dumped him!  For a bullshit reason, I might add."

 

"It felt like a good reason at the time, okay?  Anyway - I just... you need to know.  And let him know.  Not because I want him back, even though I do - " she adds hastily, just in case Jessica gets the wrong impression, which she does if the look on her face is any indication. " - but because if we drink more at all this week, which I guarantee we will, you can help keep my hands off of him.  I don't want him back.  I know he's bad for me.  He's great for you, don't get me wrong, but he's terrible for me - "

 

"Oh,  _I_ see," Jessica interrupts with a huff.  " If he's good for me, he's shit for you?  Yeah, I can see how that works.  That just fits your good little schoolgirl agenda just fine, doesn't it?"

 

Emily pinches the bridge of her nose with a heavy sigh.  " You know what?  I told you how I feel.  Do what you want with it.  I'm hungover as fuck and I'm tired.  I'm not in the mood to fight with you.  Go fuck yourself.  Goodbye."

 

"Go die in a hole, bitch."

 

She ignores her as she turns and slams the door behind her.  God, she needs someone to vent to, but Matt, Mike, Sam, and Josh are all gone, and she has no idea where Chris and Ashley went.  She flings herself onto the bed and lands on the corner of her thick hardcover book.  It’s almost enough to make her vomit.  She manages to swallow it back down.  God.  This vacation is turning into a fucking horror movie.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FORESHADOWINGGGGGG
> 
> Sooooo I may or may not have written this chapter completely trashed out of my mind. I was drunk for five hours and I wrote this piece of trash while I was trashed so let's take me and my work and put us where we belong, in the garbage! =D
> 
> ...I may have taken this joke too far.
> 
> Also, you may have noticed that my 'coming soons' rarely influence the following chapter. This is because I̶ ̶n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ ̶r̶e̶m̶e̶m̶b̶e̶r̶ ̶w̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶c̶o̶m̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶s̶o̶o̶n̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶I̶ ̶j̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶i̶g̶n̶o̶r̶e̶ ̶i̶t̶ it is coming SOON, not coming up NEXT. I am trash.
> 
> COMING SOON...  
> \- Chris and Ashley! Because apparently I have readers that want that desperately. So I'm making you suffer longer. SUFFERRRRR  
> \- "What even is that thing?"


	5. It's Easy, When You Know How It's Done

She paces the living room anxiously.  She shivers every few seconds and tries to excuse it as a cold chill even though she’s fully aware that it’s not that cold in here.  The thin light streams through the window, filtered through clouds thick with snow and heavy glass windows until it can barely even be called light.  Each inhale is deep, each exhale is a sigh.  Breathe, breathe, breathe - hold, hold, hold - release, release, release.  Ever since she woke up this morning, she’s felt a panic attack approaching - and she forgot her pills at home, damn it, how could she forget something so important? - and she’s been trying to stave it off.

 

She knows that’s impossible.  How do you prevent the inevitable?

 

Ashley pauses yet again beside the wall of plaques above the dusty old end table.  One is large, half the size of her old __Dirty Dancing__  movie poster; it’s a high-quality photo of that plaque that she passes on the trail every time she comes up here with Ha - to visit.  She’s read it once, the first time they came together, but she’s ignored it ever since.  She’s had to.  The first time gave her nightmares for nearly two years.  Her psychiatrist denies that it has anything to do with her anxiety problems today, but she’s convinced it at least plays a part.  She reads it again for the first time in over ten years, remembering each word as if she had just read it yesterday.

 

 

INDIGENOUS PEOPLE AND BUTTERFLY PROPHECIES

 

Tʀɪʙᴇs ᴡʜᴏ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ʟɪᴠᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴍᴏᴜɴᴛᴀɪɴs ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴜᴛᴛᴇʀꜰʟɪᴇs

ᴄᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍs ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏᴘʜᴇᴄɪᴇs ᴏꜰ ᴘᴏssɪʙʟᴇ ꜰᴜᴛᴜʀᴇs.

Tʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴜᴛᴛᴇʀꜰʟʏ ɪɴᴅɪᴄᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴘʜᴇᴄʏ.

 

 

There’s more, but she ignores it for now, choosing instead to read the information off of the other pictures.  There are five other picture frames, each holding a single butterfly with a line of text beneath it, all decoratively framing the original plaque.  She gazes at each one for several seconds, memorizing the descriptions and their matching color.  She doesn’t know why, but she has the strangest feeling that she’s going to need this information later.

 

It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she saw three distinctively red butterflies in her dreams last night.

 

She loves butterflies.  She always has, she always will.  They’re so precious and pretty, like tiny angels sipping the nectar of only the most beautiful flowers.  She was the one who convinced Hannah, during a drunken sleepover, to get that tattoo; she was the one who held Hannah’s hand until about halfway through the tattoo, which Hannah insisted is when she fainted.  Something about these butterflies, though… something about these delicate little specimens is setting her on edge.  Her skin is crawling just being near them.  She takes a hesitant step back, half expecting one of them to flutter its wings.

 

“Ashley.”  She gasps and spins around; her hands almost fly up to protect her face but instead clench at her side.  It’s just Chris, standing nearly four feet away; how long has he been watching her?  She didn’t hear him arrive.  He doesn’t smile at her; he pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and clears his throat.  “Are you ready to go downstairs?  I brought some extra batteries for the flashlight and some water.  You don’t have asthma, do you?”

 

“Um - no - “

 

“Good.  It’s incredibly dusty down there.  I brought an inhaler for me, but I don’t know if there’s enough in it to save two people from asphyxiation.”  He pulls it out of his pocket and shakes it heartily.  It’s…it’s bright purple with pink butterflies.  

 

Ashley ogles it for a moment, then smiles weakly.  “Um - Chris - ?”

 

“It’s the only one the pharmacy had left.  I prefer blue.”  He shoves it back into his pocket, but she can’t help but notice the soft blush that trails across his cheeks.  She doesn’t say anything else.  Instead she follows him across the living room to the ominous wooden door.  He pushes it open to reveal an abyss of darkness, a void that she really, __really__  doesn’t want to go into.  Why did she agree to this?  Why did she think this was a good idea?  Easy - she doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but it’s the perfect chance to spend some alone time with Chris, which she doesn’t really get otherwise.  As terrible as she considers this idea, she isn’t about to abandon this golden opportunity.

 

She almost grabs his hand as they descend into the void.

 

Time is such a confusing thing.  It feels like they’re down there for hours, but every glance at her watch reveals it’s only been about twenty minutes, then twenty-five, then thirty-one, then thirty-two…  She doesn’t like being down here.  Her arms refuse to leave her chest, the pressure of the self-hug helping to keep her calm.  Besides, watching Chris go through boxes and shriek in delight whenever he finds a prop from an especially loved film is quite entertaining - and distracting.  She decides to help during a particularly exciting box - apparently bright pink boxer briefs are delightful?   _ _I dunno.__  - and wanders around a shelf to find more boxes.

 

“ _ _Chris - !”__

__

“Wha - I’m coming!”  He skids around the corner and careens into her, a plastic crowbar firmly in one hand, the flashlight in the other.  The beam of light erratically shoots around the room until it lands on a mannequin, dressed in a lumberjack’s outfit, the tip of a bloody axe resting on the ground beside its foot.  He freezes, then relaxes and starts to laugh.  “Ash - it’s okay.  It’s just the Lumberjack from __Forest Nights__.  It’s okay - “  He wraps his arms around the hyperventilating girl and pulls her into a gentle friendly hug.  “Shhh - I’m here.  Take your time.  Do you need my inhaler?”

 

Ashley isn’t sure if it’s the pressure around her, the soothing monotonous tone by her ear, or the fact that the guy she’s had a crush on since fifth grade is holding her in his arms, but her breathing begins to slow.  His heart rate is - __oh my god, it’s through the roof.  Cosmo says that means he likes me.  Oh my god oh my god oh my god -__

__

He releases her quite unceremoniously and approaches the mannequin, already chattering in excitement.  “Do you know how much this old mannequin is worth?  Hundreds of thousands!  Maybe millions, if you can get the right buyer!  And Bob Washington just bought it from a freakin’ Walmart.  For twenty bucks!  That’s one hell of an investment, if you ask me.”  Ashley quickly tunes him out, clinging to herself in a feeble attempt to stop shaking.  She doesn’t know if she’s shaking due to fear or the absolute __thrill__  that Chris likes her back.

 

She kind of wishes she had kissed him.

 

“C’mon.”  She jumps as he grabs her elbow.  “I heard something upstairs.  We need to find out what’s going on.”

 

 

 

|------- ▼ -------|

 

 

 

 

He trudges through the snow.  It’s so cold that the snow is immediately developing a crust of ice, so he has to stomp with every footstep.  He feels like whistling a merry tune would be appropriate for a moment like this; he knows that if he was in one of his father’s movies, he would be.  If what he had just done had involved anyone else, he probably would be too.  It’s just…this was Sam.  He hadn’t planned for his own emotions to get involved with the beginning of his little build-your-own-adventure.  No masterminds ever had to tangle with emotions.  Nobody in movies ever teared up when dragging a body.

 

Why had he?

 

 _ _That’s simple, brother mine.__   He winces at the voice that he knows, he __knows__  isn’t real, but he just can’t shake.  Her arms, barely there but still colder than the snow pooling in his boots, slither around his neck the way they had when he gave her piggyback rides.   _ _You have a massive crush on Sam.  It’s so obvious.__

__

“I do not,” he mutters.  He knows the voice isn’t real, it’s in his head and a product of his ~~refusal~~  lack of medications, but he can’t resist arguing with her just one more time.  “Sam’s just a friend.  She’s Beth’s girlfriend, for Christ’s sake.  Why would I like her?”

 

 _ _Former__ _ _girlfriend, Joshie,__  she is kind enough to remind him, purring directly into his ear - it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real - _ _Beth’s dead, remember?  Just like me.  Anyway, you’ve had a crush on Sam ever since I brought her home to play Mario Kart.  Remember that day?__

__

“She beat me on Rainbow Road.  Twice.”

 

__You’ve always been attracted to people who are better than you.  It’s almost like you want to drag them down into your own personal hell with you…_ _

__

The last words fade to silence as she disappears, as his brain finally shuts her down.  He knows she’s not real.  He knows this.  But it’s so hard to ignore her words when she’s voicing every single one of his deepest, darkest fears?

 

Josh tries to focus on the lie he’s going to tell the others when he gets there.  “I don’t know what happened, guys - it was over so fast,” he whispers to himself, practicing the shrill, panicked voice he can mimic so well.  The Psycho, the man of his own creation, was going to be his star role.  It is the role that’s going to get him onto the silver screen, making the money that his wealthy father pays to lesser actors.  

 

He can do this.

 

He can do this.

 

He…he can’t do this.

 

He sinks to his knees in the snow and lets out a wheeze as he tries to force the sobs back.  He just can’t erase Sam’s face as he dragged her by her ankles to the closet - that helpless yet peaceful expression as he set her up in the chair and tied her hands and ankles together - the darkness slowly devouring her slumped head and pale hair as he shut and locked the door.  It wasn’t even malicious intent.

 

He just wanted her out of the way so she wouldn’t get hurt.  That’s all.

 

Josh considers turning back, releasing her, but he can’t.  There are only two outcomes to that.  Both end in her hating him, and he cannot bear even a frown from her.  He has to keep going, to - what does Dr. Hill always say?  He has to stick to his guns, take responsibility for his actions but never back down from his choices.  Apparently Dr. Hill thinks he is lacking in confidence.  Ha!  He can’t hold back a chuckle.  He’s a vain little shit, he knows this for a fact.  When he wrestled back in middle school, he couldn’t count the number of times someone caught him flexing and kissing his biceps in the mirror.  Even now, he has a habit of stopping at every reflective surface just to preen a little bit.  He’s gonna be an actor - he has to make sure he looks his best at all times so nobody can ever send any “pre-famous” pics to the tabloids and humiliate him so soon after his big break.  Which, come to think of it, should be here in a few weeks.  Maybe then his parents won’t be so upset when they find out that he dropped out…

 

 _ _Come on, Josh.__   Beth’s voice is so soothing, so gentle, just like Mom’s when he was sick as a kid.   _ _You have to get up.  You’re going to get sick.  You don’t have a lot of time to start separating people.  Get up.  Get moving.__

__

Beth could always motivate him.  Josh staggers to his feet, realizing for the first time that everything from the hips down was asleep.  Oh god, this walk was gonna __suck__ , but hey, at least his legs won’t be cold.  That’s another thing Beth was good at.  She was the eternal optimist - not like Hannah, who was a naive idealist, but a true optimist, who could see the faintest silver lining behind the tornado and make it seem more appealing than running away.  He stomps forward, the snow crust even thicker than before, and wraps Sam’s scarf even tighter around his neck.  It’s so warm and soft, and it smells like her -

 

Shit.

 

The scarf.

 

See, that’s one of the hallmarks of a rookie mastermind.  There’s always one tiny little detail that derails the entire plot, and this one can cause him a shit load of trouble.  He rips it from his neck and stares at it in his clenched fist, the red plaid dusted with tiny glistening snowflakes and shimmering in the pale light.  He has to let it go, but he doesn’t want to.  He presses it to his nose and inhales deeply, to get one more reassuring whiff of her clean scent, searching for that tiny hint of apples and caramel she always has just on the edge of consciousness.  Then he releases it.  The wind catches it and drags it away, flapping and twisting and turning and landing on the branch of a tree seven feet away.   _ _Goddamnit.__   With a groan he staggers toward the tree and attempts to climb it, but it is quite difficult to climb a fir tree when the tree is full of …fir.  He tries, he really does, but wrestling skills do not translate well into tree-climbing.  After ten minutes, half of his body is completely white with snow from falling so often.  He doesn’t want to give up, but his plan requires him to get back to the house soon, and he’s already wasted enough.  With a heavy sigh, he stomps back to the path, hoping nobody will see the dull red against the white and green of the forest.

 

The house looms before him like an ominous welcome-home from your creepy uncle.  Josh will never admit it, but he is very, very nervous.  He’s planned this for months.  He’s worked so hard the past several weeks to implement everything in the right order, in the right places.  He’s studied his friends’ patterns and habits to make sure the right people don’t end up in the wrong traps.  He’s pictured this in his head every night, in all its glorious perfection.  Why is he so nervous?

 

__Don’t get nervous.  Get even.  Avenge us.  Avenge_ _ **_**_me_ ** _ ** __._ _

__

He pushes the door open and staggers inside, slamming it heavily behind him.  The panting and the weakness aren’t fake; he’s actually fairly worn out from this trek.  The storm hadn’t been part of his plans, hadn’t even been in the weather forecast.  “Mike?  Chris?  Guys!   _ _Somebody!__ ”

 

 

 

 

|------- ▼ -------|

 

 

 

 

Ashley can’t keep up with Chris.  He just runs so fast, and those long legs can easily take two, three steps at a time.  She hurries after him and slides through the door after he bursts through.  Jess and Emily are clustered around Josh, who’s covered in snow and gasping for air.  He’s sputtering words, barely distinguishable; she sidles up behind Jess and peers around him.  He looks as though he’s been crying, but that could just be the snow melting off of his flushed face.  She can’t tell.  “Josh - what’s going on?”  It’s only now that she notices.  “Where’s Sam?”

 

“She’s gone.”

 

Chris swears softly.  Jess and Emily gasp.  Ashley can only stare, taking a step back as though trying to distance her from the words he just spat out.  Sam…gone?  No - that’s impossible.  Josh wouldn’t let anything happen to Sam.  You only had to be in their mutual presence for a few minutes to see that he had a major crush on her.  In freshman year, he beat someone up for calling her ‘preppy’.  He’d fight to the death for Sam, that much is clear.  Her arms snake back to their self-hug position in an attempt to keep herself calm.    _ _Breathe, breathe, breathe…__   After several moments, she asks, “What happened?”

 

He doesn’t answer right away.  He seems to be gulping.  Is he still out of breath?  Maybe he actually is crying.  It would make sense.  Yes.  Yes, he’s definitely crying.  “We - we were in the - __gasp__  - cable car station, looking for Jess’s bag, and something - I dunno, I think something hit me.  I blacked out for a second, my head still hurts really bad from it.  I couldn’t move, everything was moving so fast around me - I heard her scream,  I heard her crying and begging and I heard something go __smack__  and she just went so quiet - I couldn’t help her, I couldn’t do shit, he took her and she’s gone and I tried to follow them but the snow covered everything - “  He’s definitely sobbing now, his entire body jerking as if he was having a seizure.  Jess is silent but her face is flushed; she and Emily, who is crying quietly, have wrapped their arms around Josh and are trying to comfort him.  Chris swears again and straightens so he can begin to pace around the room.  He runs his hand through his hair, jerks it back to clench into a tight fist at his side, raises it to punch his palm, flings it out in a grand gesture of frustrated helplessness.  

 

Ashley doesn’t know why, but she has an urge to find Josh a blanket.  Hypothermia - she’s heard it’s really bad.  “I’m gonna go get you a blanket,” she offers, but nobody responds.  It’s as if nobody heard her.  She is used to this.   _ _Still hurts though.__.  She shakes the feeling to the back of her mind and hurries up the stairs, barely aware that Josh is talking again, that Jess and Emily are arguing with him but he’s insistent about…whatever it is.  Blankets…blankets… someone’s room.  Everyone else will pitch the biggest fit if she takes one of theirs, so naturally she has to grab one of hers until Josh can help her find the closet full of them that Melinda - Mrs Washington undoubtedly has.  She grabs the quilt, the old patchwork from Mrs Washington’s grandmother that has barely been used since the 90s, and spins around.

 

He’s just standing there, stoic, silent, not moving - she can’t even see him breathing.  He’s not by the door, not at all - he’s off to the side, by the window, just watching.  She recognizes him instantly - it’s the Lumberjack that she and Chris found in the basement, the old mannequin from one of Mr. Washington’s first movies.  Acting on pure instinct, she clutches the quilt to her chest and bolts out the door, just running, not even paying attention to where she’s going.  There are no stairs, just doors and halls and rooms - when she finally stops running, she’s in a room she’s never seen before, smothered in the dust and grime of abandonment.  She stops finally, gasping for air - she’s never been much of a runner - and trying to remember where she is.  Is she in the old wing of the house, the one that got damaged by the ice storm?  She has to be - there are shattered windows and pooling snow beneath them and it’s even colder in here than downstairs and oh my god, how is she going to get back?  This isn’t one of the first rooms in the abandoned wing; she knows those rooms, she’s snooped around them with Hannah many, many times.  This room is new.

 

So is the sudden new breath blowing fog over her shoulder.

 

This time she jumps and screams, but the sound only pierces the air for a moment before the stranger’s heavy gloved hand clamps over her mouth.  “Shut up, you frigid little bitch.”  That mask - it’s horrifying, it makes her want to scream and cry and just run away but she cannot break free of his hand no matter how much she struggles.  At least she’s wearing him out too; he’s clearly having a hard time against her fists beating into his shoulders, his arms, his chest, even trying to get a punch at his throat - Chris always told her to aim at the throat, it bruises his track-eye-ayyy or whatever it is, but his arms are in the way and blocking her tiny fists.  “Fuck this.”  His voice is so deep and gruff, she’s pretty sure it’s fake, but she can’t be for sure and there is a fist aimed right at her forehead and she can’t duck and __fuck__  that hurts.  A bright light flashes before her eyes, followed by hundreds of tiny stars.  She can’t move, she can’t lift her arms, she’s pretty sure she has a concussion but at least she’s conscious and he’s dragging her to a weird little door on the wall and oh my god what __is__  that?  She blinks and blinks again, trying to focus, trying to fight back but he’s pushing her inside and it’s a metal chute that looks so much bigger than it is and she’s falling, falling, falling -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I take so long to post? God.
> 
> So the action (finally) begins! 
> 
> I'm sorry it took so long. We are finally moved in but we're not unpacked and oh my god unpacking is hard.
> 
> I loved/hated writing this chapter. I'm trying to make Chris The Logical One™ but he's...not? I dunno. And Josh turned out really creepy and Ashley now has anxiety and I think I'm gonna end up making her The Logical One™? I DON'T KNOW ANYMORE WHAT IS THIS BULLSHIT WHAT IS LOVE WHAT IS LIFE
> 
> Coming soon...  
> \- "If I have to be here, why do I have to be here with YOU?"  
> \- A kiss?   
> \- "Baby, it's cold outside." "Well DAMN Jackie, I don't control the weather!"  
> \- More fuckery because why not.


	6. They Split the Secret Up Six Ways

When Josh comes barreling down the stairs to announce that Ashley is gone, the entire atmosphere of the house changes.  Emily storms toward Josh; she screams profanities and demands answers, jabbing him in the chest as if she’s forgotten that mere minutes ago, she was comforting him.  Chris swears again and punches the wall; Jess isn’t sure if it’s as hard as she can, but she does know that if he were to aim that amount of strength at her, she’d be severely bruised at the least.  She might not even feel it though.  Even though there’s a fire in the hearth, Jess feels freezing cold.  There’s an ice block in her gut and it is spreading throughout her entire body, even to the very tips of her fingers.

 

“Okay.”  Chris claps his hands and steps forward.  He seems to have calmed down really fast, and that kinda weirds Jess out a bit.  Everyone else in the room is still completely shaken.  Emily is glaring daggers at Chris, and Josh is pacing by the stairs, gripping chunks of hair with hands sprawled out like claws.  How the fuck is Chris so _calm_?  He speaks again, oblivious to her private, increasingly suspicious thoughts.  “Obviously, someone else is on the mountain with us - “

 

“Really?  What tipped you off, genius?”  Emily screeches from behind him.

 

He ignores her. “ - and has it in his head that he can fuck with us.”

 

“Well, it’s working.”  Jess shifts uncomfortably in her jacket.  She’s very tempted to sneak upstairs and borrow one of Ashley’s sweaters.  They are ugly as shit, even grosser than Christmas sweaters, but fuck her if they aren’t as warm and cozy as a hug from a fluffy panda.  She promptly scolds herself for even considering it.  What kind of person, when faced with the disappearance of a dear(ish) friend, immediately considers jacking her clothes?  A shitty one  ~~Emily~~ , that’s for sure.  She shivers.  She’ll be fine for now.  She’ll ask for one when they find Ashley.

 

Chris snaps his fingers.  “ All right, guys, here’s what we’re gonna do.”

 

“Excuse me?” Emily snaps.  “ And who, exactly, put  _you_ in charge, you anime-loving NEET?”

 

Chris’s face turns red.  “ Seriously?  Who cares about stupid shit like that right now?” he retorts hotly.  After a moment, his face twists with confusion.  “ Hey, wait a second.  If you don’t watch anime, how do you know what a NEET is?”

 

Even under her makeup, which is The Good Shit™, it is obvious that Emily is also blushing. “Uh - I’m Korean, dumbass.”

 

“But NEET is Japa - “

 

“Shut up!”  Everyone turns to stare at Josh, who is hunched over on the stairs, still gripping his hair.  He lifts his head, his eyes as red as they were the day he’d smoked an entire ounce of marijuana and gotten lost in Target.  His hair is wild, even when he releases it.  He stands up slowly, entire body trembling like a leaf. “Nobody fucking CARES - “  Emily flinches as he suddenly shouts, “ - if you watch anime or not.  Sam and Ashley are fucking GONE, okay?  Do you understand that?  They could be dead for all we fucking know, and you guys are arguing about fucking _anime_?  Get your fucking shit together!”

 

Jess finds herself nodding in agreement. “He’s right.  Emily, nobody cares about your otaku bullshit - “

 

“ _I don’t watch_ _-_ “

 

“Nobody cares!  No.  Body.  Cares.  Fucking focus.  We have to find Ashley.”

 

“And Sam,” interjects Josh, wringing his hands.

 

“Ashley first.  Hear me out,” she adds quickly as Josh’s head snaps up, his expression almost murderous.  “ Sam’s already gone.  By the time we go out to the cable car station, everything we’d need to find her will be gone, and we’ll have wasted our chance to find Ashley.  I’m not saying we give up on Sam, but we have limited time to find Ashley, so we need to use it wisely.  I think we all go look for her, right now.”

 

“I agree.”  Chris steps forward, arms folded, one hand up by his head to fiddle with a strand of hair.  “ We need to go upstairs and look around where we  _know_ Ashley went.”

 

“We don’t know where Ashley went, though.”  Emily joins the group, making a point of staring at the fireplace behind Jess.  “ I think we should split up and search the house.  I mean, she’s got to be hidden somewhere.  We would have heard someone dragging her out of the house.”

 

Chris shakes his head.  “ We should  _definitely not_ split up.”  

 

“If we split up, we can search more rooms more quickly and better utilize our time.”  Emily’s lips are pursed into a fine line.  She’s not happy about Chris disagreeing with her; she hates being challenged in the ‘smarts’ department.  She thinks she’s the hottest shit, and Jess hates it.  Sometimes the brainiacs are wrong too, y’know.  But she stays silent, fully aware that if she gets involved, it will just turn into another screaming match and they don’t have time for that.

 

“The kidnapper is taking people when they’re alone - “

 

“But Sam wasn’t alone.  Josh was there,”  Jess interjects, nodding at the eerily silent Josh.  He’s staring intently between Emily and Chris, seemingly fascinated by their argument.  Creepy…

 

“He clearly only wanted Sam, so he took Josh out to make sure he wasn’t interrupted.  I don’t think he realized Josh was there until it was too late to back out.  He didn’t want witnesses - what kidnapper does?  No, he’s being more careful now, picking out the stragglers one by one.  We can’t split up.”

 

“We are running out of time.  We don’t have time to search together.”

 

“Oh my _god._ ”  Jess has had enough. “Look.  We don’t have time for this shit.  We’ll split up in groups of two - yay, compromise!”  Her bitter tone indicates that her words are anything _but_ ‘yay’. “I’ll take Josh and go upstairs.  You two, go wherever and finish your little lover’s spat.”  Chris and Emily immediately begin to protest, but she ignores them.  Grabbing Josh’s hand, she drags him up the stairs, taking them two at a time.  She will find Ashley.  She has to.

 

 

 

|-------▼-------|

 

 

This plan could not be going more smoothly if he tried.  Everything was clicking into place, piece by piece, and he didn’t have to lift a finger.  Josh has to fight to keep a smirk off his face as he follows Jessica through the upstairs hall, directly to Ashley’s room.  He had known the next person he needed to nab was Jessica.  His agitation downstairs after Ashley’s ‘disappearance’ had been pure panic at “how to get Jessica alone for a good and proper person stealing”.  He had figured that they’d follow Chris’s advice - Chris was smart, and he’d definitely be the hardest person to deal with - and stick together.  However, Jess’s total lack of impulse-control had proven to be perfect for his diabolical plan.  

 

Is it bad that he doesn’t even feel guilty?

 

…nahh.

 

“We should start in Ashley’s room,” Jess informs him over her shoulder, her grip on his rapidly-numbing hand never weakening.  “ I don’t know why she ran up here, but she probably went there.  Maybe there’s something we can find that will help.”

 

“Okay, Jess-ay.”  He flashes her a thumbs-up.  She rolls her eyes and turns forward again.  He can take her now.  He doesn’t have to wait.  He can grab her from behind and strangle her.  He can smash her face against a wall.  He can…no.  He needs to wait.  It will be  _extremely_ suspicious if Jess disappears within minutes of them running off together.  It’s fine.  He can wait.  Fate will present him with the perfect opportunity eventually.

 

Soon would be nice.

 

Ashley’s room isn’t as cozy as he always thought it would be.  It’s very bare and empty; the only sign that it’s been used is the dresser full of sweaters (what is this girl’s obsession with sweaters?) and the rumpled pillow on the floor.

 

Wait, huh?

 

Jess is already kneeling over the pillow, prodding it with her finger. “Ash would never do this.  Ash would never leave this on the floor.  She’s anal about a neat bed.  She was definitely in here.  Look around.  See what you can find.”  She flings the draped quilt onto the bed and begins to examine the space under the bed.  Josh absently opens a drawer and pokes around in it, having absolutely no idea what he’s supposed to do.  He’s a serial kidnapper, not a detective.  What do detectives even _do_ , besides whip off sunglasses and sass their way to an arrest?  Jesus, is this the one time that TV fails him?  He quickly gets bored and announces, “I can’t find anything.  We should look somewhere else.”

 

Jess stands up and dusts off her knees, visibly frustrated.  “ Ugh.  Fine.  Where would she go, though?”  When Josh shrugs, she groans aloud.  “ Let’s…let’s wander a bit and see if we see anything.  She won’t go into anyone else’s room without  _absolute_ permission, so we don’t need to bother with those.”  

 

“How do you know so much about Ashley?”  Josh asks as he follows her out the door.  “ I mean, I used to hang out with her all the time, and I don’t even know that stuff about her.”

 

Jess shrugs, dragging her fingers along a side table.  “ We spend a lot of time together.”

 

“Doing what?”  He doesn’t know why he’s trying to distract her.  It’s not like he’s hiding anything (oh god, he almost laughs out loud at that thought).  She’s walking almost directly to where he needs her, and any signs of what happened to Ashley will lead her right there.  Is it a morbid curiosity to know more about his ‘victims’ before he torments them?  Is it just the realization that, despite spending so much time with Ashley when she came to hang out with Hannah and Beth before the accident, he still knew very little about his sisters’ friend?  I mean, she was still his friend.  She was part of The Group - and yet Josh, the man who prided himself on knowing every detail about everything, didn’t know so much about her.  That’s…yeah, that’s probably it.  

 

“Disney movie marathon every Tuesday night.”  Jess smiles faintly, almost dreamily. “We stay up all night watching movies and talking - and by all night, I mean we stay up until our phone alarms go off at 6:30.  Wednesdays are usually hell because of that.  One time, the power went out because a squirrel got into the transformer and tried to eat the wires - we could hear the ‘boom’ from _miles_ away, it was awesome - so we lit a fuck-ton of candles and just read trashy romance novels.  We do that on Thursdays now.”  Her face turns bright red. “Don’t - don’t tell anyone that I read that crap.  I will beat your ass if anyone finds out, got it?”

 

He raises his hands innocently.  “ I have literally nothing to gain from this information.”  Which is a blatant lie.  He’s already tweaking his plan to include this new information.  It’s so much easier to instill fear into the hearts of torture victims if you can include stuff that’s closer to them.  It’s a LOT easier.  ( As if he knows.  Jeez, he acts like he’s a pro at this.  I mean, he  _could_ be, someday, but it’s not like he’s planning to make a habit of this….right?)  He’s already messing with his hands, fiddling around with his thumbs and picking the scab over his knuckle.  He’s starting to get a little nervous.  This is taking too long.  It’s great to get info on people, but Chris and Emily won’t be on their own forever.  They’ll fight for a while, then agree to rejoin the group and then his entire plan is royally  _fucked_ .  He has to get Jessica to the abandoned wing right now.

 

“What’s that over there?”  Jessica scurries forward; he picks up the pace a bit to catch up.  “ Look.  Isn’t that the abandoned wing?  I thought that was locked.”

 

_Think fast, Josh._ “It was, for a while.  Mom and Dad had some, uh, contractors in to talk shop for repairing and fixing it up.  They’re saying that if they can get it fixed up, we can have that wing all to ourselves.  A sort of ‘teenage hangout’ or something.  That’d be legit, wouldn’t it?  We’d never have to deal with meddling parents again.”  Meddling parents?  That’s a bit of a stretch.  His dad stayed in his office and worked most of the time, coming out only for meals.  Mom popped in from time to time to check on them, but that wasn’t often enough to qualify as “nosey” or “meddling”.  

 

Jessica doesn’t seem to catch it as she pushes the door open farther and steps inside.  “ This place is creepy.  Is this, like, a second attic or something?”

 

He shrugs and grins sheepishly.  “ Sort of.  It’s easier than dragging the ladder down every time.  Plus, this is stuff we still use a lot, so we don’t want to toss it in the basement, you know?”  He steps past her confidently, pointing in a darker corner.  “ You check over there.  I’ll be over here.”

 

Normally confident Jessica balks at the idea.  “ Um…I don’t want someone sneaking in on us.”

 

_Shit_.  “Don’t worry.  This is the only entrance on this floor, and the stairs are super creaky so we’ll hear a mouse trying to sneak in.”  He pats her on the shoulder. “Besides, I know there’s a crowbar in one of these boxes.  If I can find it, that psychopath fuck can eat metal.”  This seems to calm her down, and she steps forward into the shadows, checking for anything.  He waits for a few seconds, then ducks behind a large stack of boxes to dig his mask out of his pocket.  The perfect opportunity has indeed presented himself, but he doesn’t have a lot of time.  He’ll have to take her out from behind, and quickly; there is no way he can slip on the costume right now - but holy shit, there is a giant overcoat here.  That will do _quite_ nicely.   _Jesus Christ, Fate, who’s side are you on here?_  He almost chuckles.

 

He doesn’t have time.

 

A bloodcurdling shriek startles him so badly that he almost falls into the boxes.  Shit. “Jess?  What’s wrong?  Jess!” he calls before sliding the mask into place.  Go time.  He has thirteen seconds - well, not really, but that just makes it so much more exciting.  He slings the overcoat over his shoulders and steps out, sliding his arms into the sleeves as he moves.  Jess is bent over beside a tall crate, wheezing - but laughing?  What the hell…

 

“I’m okay,” she gasps over her shoulder without even looking. “I just - there’s a creepy mannequin in here and I thought it was the guy… holy fuck, that thing is creepy!  Where did you even get that thing?”

 

He pauses for the briefest of seconds at her words.  Mannequin?   _What?_  They do have a mannequin, that one that his dad used as a cheap replacement for an extra in Forest Nights, but he keeps it in the basement.  The fuck is it doing up here?  Weird.   _Stop_ _-_ _this is a distraction_. _Focus._  He takes a deep breath, wraps the scarf around each hand and lunges forward.

 

Holy fuck, she’s fast.

 

She slips out of his grasp and starts to run, but he manages to trip her to the floor.  Crap, crap, crap.  She tries to scramble forward, but he manages to straddle her by sitting on her butt - _is this what a bubble butt feels like?  Huh._ - and grabbing at the contents of a spilled box, for something, anything, to knock her out.  He doesn’t want to hurt her.  Severe injuries right now reduce the effectiveness of his plan.  But he has to at least give her a mild concussion or _something_.  His hands close around something solid and without looking, without _thinking_ , he smashes it into the back of her head.  It cracks - pieces tinkle to the ground - she goes limp for a second but is right back up and struggling within a second.  He’s panicking now and brings the heavy object down again, harder this time.  Now she’s limp.  Breathing heavily, he finally examines the object in his hand.  It’s one of his mother’s old bowls, a gift from his great grandmother, now cracked and chipped with an entire shard missing from the side.

 

…fuck.

 

He slowly stands up and lifts her into his arms.  She’s not nearly as light as Ashley - although to be fair, he didn’t exactly _carry_ Ashley, he’d just dragged her across the floor.  The laundry chute is still open, thank god.  He definitely doesn’t have any way to open it with his arms full and there isn’t a snowcone’s chance in hell that he’s putting her down again.  His arms and back are aching.  He needs to work out.   Josh gently slides her legs into the chute and sends her sliding down.  He can’t hear her land.  Hopefully she doesn’t land on Ashley too hard. 

 

All right.  Three down.  Now he needs to take out Chris and Emily and get them into position before the storm ends and Mike and Matt come back.  

 

Somehow, he doesn’t feel like his luck is going to last much longer.

 

 

|-------▼-------|

 

 

Chris and Emily aren’t speaking.  They walk side by side, almost patrolling the ground floor.  Neither of them want to speak to indicate which room to look in, which hall to take, and Chris _certainly_ isn’t about to split up.  He has seen enough horror films and read enough stories to know that splitting up is one of the worst things to do in this situation, and whoever is doing this is proving him right.  Emily has to know this.  She’s watched half of these movies with him (complaining every second, mind you).  She’s smart - she beat him for valedictorian by less than two points, how lucky can you get? - she should have been analyzing the films the way he did.  Even the most impossible films have an ounce of truth somewhere under the craziness.  

 

He clears his throat.  She ignores him.  He does it again, this time making it a point to be as obnoxious as possible. “Emily - “

 

“We’re trying to find Ashley.  Focus.”

 

“That’s what I’m trying to talk about.  Just wandering the ground floor ignoring each other isn’t getting us anywhere.”  He’s not admitting defeat by any means.  “ We can hate each other later.  Right now, we need to set aside our differences and put our heads together to make sure Ashley’s okay.”

 

“Ooh, so _noble_ ,” she snips, but he can tell by her tone that she (reluctantly) agrees with him.  After a few more moments of silence, she stops walking. “Fine.  Whatever.  Have you seen anything weird?”

 

Chris shakes his head.  “ Other than the basement door being open, no.”

 

“And you didn’t say anything?”  She smacks his arm.  “ Chris, that door was closed when you guys came back up.  Josh closed it.”

 

_Crap._ “I didn’t even notice that.  Shit.  Come on, let’s go.”  He starts off for the basement door, but Emily grabs his arm. “What?  We don’t have time to stop!”

 

“It’s kind of stupid to go into a dark basement hunting a possible criminal without a weapon and a flashlight.”  It seems she can’t resist a smirk. “See, this is why I was valedic - “

 

“Don’t.”  He glances around hurriedly and grabs a chair.  It’s not a fancy chair by any means - which is very weird for the Washingtons but he doesn’t question it right now - so he can easily unscrew one of the legs.  Emily tests the flashlight.  It flickers for a few seconds, then settles on a cool white beam that doesn’t exactly instill confidence in him.  It doesn’t feel like it will last very long, but hopefully, _hopefully_ , it will last long enough. (Why does it feel like he’s grasping at straws here?)  He ignores the warning grumble in the back of his mind and tries to grab the light from her hands.

 

Emily grips it tightly and yanks it back.  “ I don’t think so.  You need both hands for that leg.  I’m not risking you losing the flashlight in a fight.  Besides, it’s kind of heavy, so I can use it as a weapon too.  I’m not going down there completely defenseless.”

 

He doesn’t question or argue, despite the fact that he finds the idea of that cheap plastic light being ‘heavy’ quite amusing.  Instead, he starts down the stairs. “Keep that light in front of me.  It’s really dark down there, and I think the sun is starting to go down.”

 

“Like it’s gonna get any darker without the sun.  Those clouds are so heavy it’s like walking through night  _anyway_ . _”_  Despite her protestations, she obeys him by shining the beam partially onto his feet and partially onto the ground in front of him.  They silently descend into the eerily dark basement.  Chris’s heart is racing.  Is this fear or adrenaline?  He can’t tell.  He’s seen a lot of horror movies, he  _knows_ what he’s doing, but the anxiety-inducing stress of this entire situation was fraying at his nerves and draining his memory far more than he ever imagined.  He would never admit it, but he had a tendency to maladaptive daydream about these situations, planning every step, every reaction, every possible outcome.

 

This wasn’t anything he’d even considered before.

 

Emily sticks to his side as they comb the basement.  Chris is convinced that they haven’t missed a single thing.  It’s…actually quite boring.  He even finds himself drifting off into random thoughts - and they all keep retreating to Ashley.  He’ll freely admit that he’s worried about her.  They’re friends; they’re part of the same friend group.  They play World of Warcraft together constantly and sometimes have hours-long discussions in their Game Theory Discord channel.  He used to always smirk at her username:  TheConfusedShoe.  Still, their relationship has drastically deteriorated.  She barely speaks to him in person now.  She won’t answer the phone when he calls, always immediately texting him and claiming to be too busy to talk (but available to text).  They used to watch anime together.  Now he doesn’t even know if she watches it anymore.  Josh constantly teases him, saying that Ashley likes him and he needs to make the first move, but… he’s not sure he’s interested.  Back in the day, maybe, but now…

 

“Chris.”  He jerks back to reality.  Emily is shining her light onto an empty patch of floor, where a puddle of…of something?  It looks like blood, but he’s not sure.  It’s…off, somehow.  He gestures to her to keep the light still and drops to one knee.  Just as he reaches out to touch it, her light veers away.  “ Hey!  Put the light back!”

 

“You told me to move it!”

 

“I told you to keep it still!”

 

“…oh.”

 

“You are _shit_ at charades,” he grumbles as she returns the light to the puddle.  He’s not about to stick his fingers in it - not yet, anyway.  He muddles around it with a bit, prodding it with the leg, sniffing it, inspecting it at different angles…  Yeah, no, this is blood.  It still looks weird though.  He leans in a little closer and circles his finger through it. “This…is blood.”

 

Emily gasps. “Is it - ?”

 

“It’s not human.”  He stands back up and wipes his hand vigorously on his leg.  “ You know that watered down blood that comes out of a steak?  It’s that.”

 

“That’s actually myoglobin - “

 

“Right now, Emily, I legitimately don’t care.”  He rubs his light stubble, remembering briefly that he forgot to shave this morning.  “ My issue with it is, it’s cold.  It’s been here at least several minutes.  However, it’s been here a  _lot_ less than an hour.  It’s pretty fresh.”  He shakes his head and turns away.  “ We haven’t found anything else down here so I think we should meet back up with Josh and Jessica.”

 

“Why would someone bring a steak to a basement?”  Emily asks as she follows him up the stairs.

 

Chris shakes his head, resting the table leg on his shoulder.  “ That, I think, is the real question.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“…no, it’s not.”

 

“Shut up, it’s dramatic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I RETURN
> 
> Holy fuck, life is super sucky right now. But I'm back! Hopefully I don't disappear for a full month and a half again, holy shit. I'm in a bit of a rush as of posting so I'll probably expand on the notes tomorrow or so. ^_^
> 
> No, the last two lines are not part of the actual story. I just threw them in there because 'fuck it, makes sense'.
> 
> Coming soon...  
> \- Baby, it's cold outside.  
> \- Time to do the laundry!  
> \- Mmmmm, drama llama  
> \- Put that thing back where it came from, or so help me...


	7. They Gave It To Us

 

"There's no way you're stronger than me."

 

Matt flings his arm to the side, blissfully unaware that the contents of his glass are now splattered across the window. "I am WAAAY stronger than you!  I - I am king of sports!  The king of sports is stronger than the playboy, every time. 's a RULE."  

 

Mike sways gently on the couch.  They have long since finished the beer and have since moved on to the harder liquors, with Mike sipping gently on the whiskey and Matt attempting to polish off an entire bottle of vodka in ten minutes.  It has long since passed the ten minute mark, but Mike isn't going to say anything.  He grins impishly and jabs the neck of his bottle at Matt.  " Yeah, you can run and throw a ball.  But  _I_ can throw a punch  _and_ catch a lady, if you get what I'm sayin'."

 

"Catching a lady doesn't mean you're strong.  It means you're fast and balanced."  Matt pours himself another shot and tosses it back.  Mike'll hand it to him; he's not even using a chaser anymore.  He foggily wonders if maybe they should stop drinking now; they've each drunk more than they've ever drunk in the past, and hangovers suck bad enough already.  But the whiskey whispers to him through his drunken haze, murmuring sweet promises of contentment and warmth, and he doesn’t even realize that he’s raising the bottle to his lips.

 

"Some of the bigger ladies need a bit of strength to keep them from hitting the pavement, Matt.  See these guns?"  Mike flexes his bicep and plants a kiss on the bulge of muscle.  " If you haven't built up your biceps, like I have, you're dropping your princess into the mud."  

 

"My princesses aren't as clumsy as yours."  Matt downs the shot and sets the tumbler down.  The fire was ...glowy.  He can’t combine the multiple fireplaces well enough to see for certain whether there are still flames or not.  " Hey...is the fffffire out?"  

 

Mike squints and grunts an affirmation.  " Ye-ah.  Fuck."  He leans back into the chair with an impish grin.  " You go light it then, Muscle Man.  Show off those man bulges.  Lemme see what you got."  

 

Matt mock flexes and stands up.  This is just another game now, and they both know it.  They'll keep showing off more and more.  It'll start with arm wrestling.  Within a few minutes, they'll be rolling and struggling on the floor, laughing and grunting all the while.  Still, he's drunk, and their pissing contests were always fun.  He makes a show of taking off his flannel shirt and tossing it aside.  As he lifts the first three logs, his back muscles rippled through the tight white T-shirt.

 

Mike laughs and sets the whiskey bottle down. "Only three?  C'mon, man, a football weighs more than that.  Hold my coat, kid.  Lemme show you how it's done."  He tosses his jacket at Matt (who sidesteps and watches it slap into the end table).  Four, five, six large logs went into his arms before he finally tried walking to the hearth only a few feet away.  His balance is naturally terrible.  Add alcohol to that mix, and it only seems right that he tumbles to the ground and sends the logs rolling across the wooden floor.

 

"Told you, playboy.  Grace and finesse, alongside _actual_ strength, is a lot more effective than brute force."  Matt tries to pose in a convoluted mix between "power lifter" and "solo ballerina" and loses his balance within seconds.  He twists, grabbing at anything to catch himself, before two strong arms yanks him back down.

 

"And yet brute force saved the lady."  Mike's voice is different now; instead of his boisterous noise, it’s a cocky yet smooth purr.  Matt wriggles slightly in an attempt to escape, but apparently Mike has other ideas.  His grip tightens and he rolls over, flipping Matt over his body and pushing his chest toward the sputtering flames of the weak fire.  They lay there for a moment, too drunk and basked in the warmth to even consider moving.  After several seconds, Mike speaks again; his tone is still quiet, as though he's afraid someone might hear.  " So tell me... _quarterback_ ... how many girls have you treated like this?  Booze, a fire, a snowstorm...seems pretty romantic, if you ask me."

 

Is he joking?  Matt can't tell, though he can't whether it's subtlety or just an alcohol-induced haze.  " I've treated a few girls in my day.  Romance is key.  Gotta sweep them off their feet and keep them wanting to not get back up."  He's not great with flowing, poetic words.  " How about you?  Ever won someone's heart  _before_ they sucked your dick?"

 

“Oh, you know.  Sometimes.”

 

Matt presses a hand to his heart.  “ Shocking!”

 

"Hey now.  Gotta keep them on their toes."  Mike shifts behind Matt - is he pressing closer?  It's probably cold in here, with the fire dying, but he can't feel it.  The alcohol is keeping him so warm and drowsy... "Here's the real question.  How many _guys_ have you whisked off their feet with your 'grace and finesse'?"

 

Matt doesn't answer.  He's not sure how to.  He's not against the idea; quite the opposite, actually.  He just has no experience at all in that department.  He simply closes his eyes and tries to focus on the silence, the warmth, the soft orange light.  Mike's arm releases his wrists and slithers down so that it's resting just below his belly button.  " Ever spent a nice cold night snuggling on a floor with someone?"  A shake of the head.  " It's actually pretty comfortable."  He nestles closer, pressing as much of his front against Matt's back, even draping a leg over his hips.  " So...how're you feeling right now?"

 

"It's not bad."  Matt hasn't opened his eyes.  Being the little spoon is actually pretty comfortable.  Usually he was the big spoon, the protective shield, but tonight, it’s his turn to just snuggle back and relax in someone else's arms.  He starts to drift off slowly, shifting every few seconds to try to find the perfect position.  He is groggily aware that something was starting to press against his ass, but his mind is so foggy that he was completely incapable of realizing what it was.  He just knows that it felt oddly right.

 

Mike brushes his lips over the back of Matt's shoulders, pressing tiny little kisses against the quivering flesh.  " Are you cold?" he murmurs softly as he lightly drags his teeth over the curve's of Matt's ear, nibbling here, nipping there.  Each little tug sends shivers whispering over Matt's back; he can feel the goosebumps dancing against his arm.  " Because we could go get a blanket, if you want to."  Matt shakes his head, keeping his eyes closed and arching his back slightly.  His ass presses on what is most definitely a lump that hadn't been there a minute before, but it feels right.

 

Mike certainly isn't going to tell Matt that he is starting to subtly grind his ass into Mike's groin; that's risking that he'd stop, and Mike isn't about to do that.  His fingers begin to brush through the trail of hair that is slithering down there, gently stroking.  Matt's head rolls back to rest gently in the crook of Mike's shoulder.  His breath is getting erratic and raspy as Mike's lips and tongue and teeth slowly work their way down the side of his throat, leaving tiny bruises and thin trickles of blood.  His free hand begins to snakes up to lightly caress Matt’s chest, his fingertips barely grazing against the skin but still sending tingles of electricity to his brain.   After a moment, he gently and ever-so-lightly begins to toy with a nipple, which elicits a faint groan out of Matt.  The hand petting the happy trail could feel slightly movement below, and Mike grins.  His hand creeps down just a little further and wraps around Matt’s member, tugging just a _teensy_ bit when his fingers close down.  Matt groans again, which Mike takes as encouragement to massage and pull so slowly, so gently.  Matt’s cock twitches slightly as it slowly grows fully hard.  Mike pulls his hand away; Matt’s eyes snap open and he groans softly, almost pleading, but Mike shushes him with a light nip to his earlobe.  He places his hands on Matt's hips and nudges him to roll over.  Their lips are so close.  Matt doesn't realize - let alone care - that he's leaning forward to close the distance and lock his lips so gently over Mike's soft ones.

 

It takes mere seconds for the soft gentle movements to become frantic.  Hands are roaming over bodies, feeling every curve and twitch of the muscles.  Matt is only too eager to pull his shirt off before  crashing his face into Mike's again.  His pants are also the first removed, tugged off by Mike's hands and tossed aside, dangerously close to the fire.  They don't notice.  Mike’s face is trailing down Matt’s  abdomen , kissing and sucking, his fingers hooking into Matt’s bony hips.  Matt’s hips are thrusting forward slightly, grazing the tip of his member against Mike’s throat.  Mike grins lightly and scoots down just a few inches, until his kisses are dancing just beside his cock.  Matt groans softly and entwines his fingers in Mike’s hair, trying to force him to focus his attentions, but Mike resists.  “ Shh,” he murmurs huskily.  “ Be patient.”

 

“Mike - “

 

“It will be worth it.”

 

Matt grunts his impatient displeasure but relaxes his grip.  Mike rewards him by shifting his position slightly, just enough that he can begin to trail his kisses up the length of Matt’s cock.  The throbbing member twitches hard, lightly smacking him in the cheek; he chuckles and responds with a light lick to the tip.  Matt gasps, the intense sensation sending shivers throughout his entire body.  His hands again tighten again on Mike’s head as the taller boy twirls his tongue around the sensitive head.  His hips begin to thrust again, this time forcing his cock deeper into Mike’s mouth, trying to rush to the ending he so desperately needed.  This time, Mike lets him take the lead, allowing him to frantically slam his member deeper and deeper down Mike’s throat.

 

Until, with a light squeeze to Matt’s ass, Mike sharply pulls away.  Matt’s breathless groans stop after a moment, as he realizes that the intense pleasure has stopped.  “ Mike?” he whispers weakly, reaching for him.

 

Mike shakes his head.  “ Just a sec,” he murmurs, stumbling to his feet.  The blood rushes back to his head, which his fuzzy mind finds a little weird; after all, his cock is pressing hard enough against his zipper that it’s astounding it’s still intact.  He hurries into the bedroom and rummages in a drawer.  “ Yesh,” he slurs, pulling out his prize and hiding it behind his back.  He returns to the room, smiling almost wickedly when he sees Matt whimpering and rubbing his the head of his cock with his hand.  He kneels again, this time gently pulling Matt so his knees are hooked over Mike’s shoulders, and resumes his gentle ministrations.  As his mouth works and teases the head of Matt’s cock, his hand fumbles with the treasure:  a tub of Vaseline.  He manages to get the lid off and dips his fingers in it, coating them thickly, before beginning to divert his attention to what his own cock was truly craving.  He very lightly begins to trace circles around Matt’s asshole.  

 

Startled by the new sensation, Matt gasps and arches his back, the sudden movement slamming his cock against the back of Mike’s throat.  Mike gags at the sudden intrusion but recovers quickly; his fingers continue their ministrations as Matt slowly relaxes and returns to their intimate rhythm of gentle, slow movements.  Encouraged, Mike slowly begins to press his index finger into the puckered hole he has been gently teasing.  Again, Matt tenses; Mike glances up to see a look of discomfort. “Relax,” he murmurs before lightly swiping his tongue across the skin where the head and the shaft connect.  His finger just keeps slowly prodding forward and drawing back, twirling and tickling where it can, until he finds what he’s seeking.  He focuses most of his attention on that, flicking the little walnut-sized bulb (and bracing himself for more assaults on his throat).   Within minutes, another finger joins its brother.  Again, Matt winces in discomfort, but it’s fainter this time, not as severe.  He relaxes more quickly now too, his pained whine returning to heavy gasps and panting.  A third finger slides in soon after; within seconds, Matt thrusts forward with a loud, guttural groan and explodes into the back of Mike’s throat.  He doesn’t pump, like Mike is used to - instead, he presses Mike’s face against his crotch to drive his cock as deep down as he can and just holds him there.  After a few seconds, he slowly draws back, pulling his member out of Mike’s mouth.  Mike takes care to lick him clean as he does so; he notices that it has a somewhat tart bite, like pepper, while maintaining its salty aftertaste.  

 

Matt closes his eyes, still panting. “Just…wow.  Wow, Mike.  I - I’m done.  I’m done.”

 

“But I’m not.”  Mike scoots up to gaze directly into Matt’s eyes, pouting slightly.  “ You got to cum, Matt.  Don’t I get to?”

 

Matt laughs weakly and reaches down to tease Mike’s cock. “Oh shit, we can’t have that.  C’mere, you.  I - “  He hesitates midstroke, which Mike’s member protests with a twitch. “I’ve never blown anybody before.  I - “

 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.”  He presses his salty lips to Matt’s, noticing with a ripple of pleasure that Matt seems to enjoy the taste.  “ I’ve been preparing you for something even better.”

 

Matt pales and shrinks back slightly.  Mike leans forward to recapture his lips, nibbling gently.  “ If you don’t want me to, I’ll stop,” he promises in a husky whisper between nips and kisses.  His unlubed hand slides down to gently squeeze Matt’s ass cheek, pulling him closer, trying to recapture the gentle intimacy.  “ I won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with, Matt.  If you want me to, I’ll stop.”

 

Matt is silent for several seconds, neither reciprocating Mike’s attentions nor withdrawing from them.  His eyes search the pale blue ones before him, as though seeking any signs of dishonesty but finding only earnestness.  He finally whispers, “I’ve never done that before either.”

 

“I know.  I’ll be gentle.”  He kisses him again, so gently, so lightly.  He guides Matt’s hips until the stockier boy rolls over and helps him to his knees, bending over.  “ Any time you want me to stop, just say the word, and I’ll stop.”  His Vaseline-coated hand dips back into the tub, smearing the fresh lube generously over his cock.  He’s not going to lie; he’s also a little nervous.  He’s slept with virgins before, so he knows what he’s doing, but it’s always tricky territory.  Some are more sensitive than others, and he wants to be absolutely sure that he won’t hurt Matt.  

 

When the head of his cock slowly pushes into him, Matt arches his back.  Mike flinches as his asshole clenches so quickly that it pushes him back out.  “ Do you want me to stop?” he asks again, resting a hand on the curve of Matt’s spine.  Matt shakes his head, trying to focus his breathing.  “ Try to relax.  It’s going to hurt a little.  Let me know if I need to stop.”  Again, he pushes forward, this time managing to get his entire head in before stopping.  He uses the distance he’s gained to just move back and forth, encouraging the tight flesh to stretch, pushing forward bit by bit.  His ass is so warm, so tight, that Mike wants to just relinquish his self-control and slam forward, but he holds back.  

 

It isn’t long, however, before he realizes that maybe he doesn’t need to hold back _quite_ so much.  Matt is humping back against him, as though trying to drive him deeper, fuck him faster.  In fact, Mike can honestly say that at this point, Matt is the one fucking him.  He grins and slams forward before settling into a rapid thrusting rhythm, finally allowing himself to just let go.  The room is filled with groans and slaps and the ever-more-constant groaning of pure, unbridled lust.  Mike increases his speed as he can feel himself building, his fingers digging into Matt’s ass to the point that bruises begin to form on the flesh.  Matt’s pants become grunts, which quickly become groans and finally - “F-fuck, Mike!  Fuck!”  Matt’s whimpers, with their frantic and desperate tone, sends Mike over the edge, and with a heavy grunt he slams forward one more time as his seed spills inside Matt.

 

They collapse together in the small pools of sperm and sweat, Mike sprawled over Matt’s back.  Panting heavily together, they don’t move for quite some time, allowing themselves to slowly come down from the pleasured buzzing that filled their entire bodies.  After several minutes, Matt shifts and hoarsely whispers over his shoulder, “Shouldn’t we light the fire again?

 

“In a minute,” Mike groans, burying his face in Matt’s shoulder.  “ I don’t think I can move yet.  Fuck, that was…”

 

“Intense?”

 

“And exhausting.  Football’s got nothing on that.”

 

“…well, I mean, it kind of  _does…”_

 

“You know what I mean.  Shut up and cuddle.”

 

 

 

 

 

|-------▼-------|

 

 

 

 

 

He doesn’t have a lot of time to just sit down and relax.  He leans his head against the wall and closes his eyes, wheezing slightly.  He left his inhaler in his room, like an  _ass_ .  He’s not even sure there’s anything left in it.  Okay, breathe.  Long, slow breaths.  There we go.  He closes his eyes to focus on his breathing, to focus on making sure his breathing struggles didn’t explode into a full-blown panic attack.  Focus on the good things.  Sam, Jess, and Ash are all in place.  Chris and Emily  _should_ be easy if he takes a minute to figure out how he’s going to approach this.  Mike and Matt are probably snowed in at the lover’s cabin and, with any luck, have found and consumed the stupid amounts of alcohol he’d hidden out there, so they’re not even close to being a threat right now.  Everything’s falling into place.

_Except what if it isn’t, though._

Josh almost groans aloud.  “ What do you  _want?”_

_So rude, Joshie.  I’m just here to make sure all your priorities are in order.  Make sure you don’t mess up and all that.  You just have to mess up once for this entire operation to crash around your ears.  I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen._

“I’ve got it under control.   _You_ are a distraction.”

_Is that why you killed me?  Because I’m a distraction?  Good to know._

God damn it.  “ Fucking… whatever.”  He stands up and begins to strip to switch back into his original outfit.  He used to find changing in front of his hallucinations extremely disconcerting, almost like changing clothes in front of his  _actual_ sisters, but now he doesn’t even care.  He wants to say it’s because he’s fully aware that they’re just hallucinations and that’s why he’s fine with it, but honestly?  He just stopped giving any fucks.  ( Don’t tell Dr. Hill that.)

_What’s the plan there, sparky?_  Hannah’s perched on top of the pile of boxes beside his old clothes, legs crossed, gnawing aimlessly on her pinky nail.  His imagination has a penchant for accuracy.  It bugs him sometimes.  Her tone, her mannerisms… things he’d never noticed before, all popping up in his vivid recreations of her.  It just makes him miss her more.  Still, her tone and inflection are annoying.

“I’m not telling you.”  He grabs his shirt and drops it immediately, recoiling as though it was made of acid.  What the fuck… why is his shirt wet?  Oh great, snow.  He didn’t even notice that he’d just tossed his clothes into a pile of snow and the residual body warmth had melted it into a chilly puddle.  Great.  Now he has to explain that to Chris and Emily, who notice  _everything_ .

_…oh my god, you don’t have a plan._

_“_ Yes I do.”

_Then tell me what it is._ She leans forward, prodding him in the chest with terrifying residual reality.  He can actually feel her icy finger pushing against his rib.   _What am I gonna do?  Tell them?  Hey, CHRIS!_ He flinches at her sheet shriek.  _He’s coming to get you, Emily!_

"Will you shut up?"  

_For real though, what is your plan?   You gonna just…slide down the railing and dropkick Chris in the face?  Seduce Emily and knock her out with a sedated condom?  Drug their hot cocoa during a nice little chit chat beside a roaring fire?_

“No.”  That last idea isn't bad, though.   He zips up his jeans and jiggles slightly, trying to shake what little water he can off.   It doesn't work.  He'll just have to change after everyone has been accounted for. 

_Ooh!  Ooh!  Set up an elaborate maze of wires and hook them to your vest so you can kick their asses with your super sexy kung fu skills!_

"I'm ignoring you now."  He walks out the door without another word, praying she doesn't follow.  She doesn't.   He loves her to death, he really does, and some of her ideas are very helpful, but god _damn_ has she gotten annoying since she died.  Beth, too, but in a different way.  She's just been so preachy. 'Josh, take your pills. Josh, eat your veggies. Josh, don't torture your friends.' Bleh. 

_Josh, do you really have to do this?_

Speak of the fucking devil… "Yes, Beth."  He veers into his parents' room.  Never has he been so glad that his mom has insomnia.  Her medicine cabinet has always been a treasure trove of drugs for the experimenting teenager, but this time, he digs in her bedside table for the pills he has in mind.  True to his hunch, there they are: nestled in a small bottle are tiny little Flunitrazepam tablets, known to the sketchier crowd in bars and clubs as rohypnol - the date rape drug.  It was never legalized in the United States so she picked it up during her trip to Europe two months before The Accident.  She never came back to the lodge so the pills rested, forgotten, in her bedroom.  His hand tingles as he shakes the bottle to guess how many pills are left - more than enough for what he needs.  Hell, there's enough in here to drug the others every time he needs to move them and still have some left over.

It's almost as if they've been waiting here for him this entire time…

_Joshie_ _-_

 _“Go away_ , Beth.”  She vanishes at his stern dismissal, though the air tingles with disapproval and intense disappointment.  He takes two out of the bottle before shoving it into his jacket pocket and tucks them into his front jeans pocket.  It's easier to get caught if you're shuffling a bottle of pills while making hot cocoa.  I mean, you may as well be screaming, "hey guys, do you want to be knocked out for a day or a week?"  He chuckles at his own dry wit as he heads for the stairs.  Time to play. 

|-------▼-------|

"Where is Jessica?"

Chris is rather surprised that Emily is the one to ask this.  She hates Jessica.  He legitimately believed that if Jessica were the next to vanish, she would be thrilled.  Still, it's a valid question, and he returns his attention to the situation at hand. 

Josh looks confused.  " What do you mean?  She came down here to ask if you found anything like five minutes ago."

"And you just let her?  Where were you, even?"  

"I had to pee."

"You didn't flush."

"I didn't say it was in a toilet."  Emily didn't react, so Josh pouts.  " I'm kidding.  The toilet's frozen.  Not, like,  _bad_ ,  but enough that it wouldn't  flush.  So Jess didn't come downstairs?"

"We haven't seen her since she dragged you upstairs."   Chris folds his arms over his chest.  " She might be looking around down here for us.  We were in the basement so we wouldn't have heard her come downstairs.  Maybe she's in one of the bathrooms down here or something."

"Or maybe she's been taken too - did you ever think of that?"

Chris will not look at Emily.  Looking at Emily means that Emily might get smacked, and he's not going to do that.  " I'm trying to be optimistic, Emily.  We didn't hear her scream, and she certainly wouldn't go down quietly, so Josh would have heard her if we didn't.  I mean, we were in the basement.  We probably wouldn't hear someone blowing the door off its hinges with ten pounds of dynamite."

“We _definitely_ would have heard that, Chris.  The shockwave alone - “

“It was a hyperbole, Emily.”  He resists the urge to roll his eyes for the seventeenth time that night and turns to Josh, who’s frowning at the back of Emily’s head.  “ What’s wrong, Josh?”

“We need to take a break.”  He raises a hand as both Chris and Emily begin to protest. “Listen.  It’s freezing in here.  Emily’s shivering, _and_ her lips are blue.  She needs to get some hot cocoa in her so she doesn’t get hypothermia.  It’s not a great solution, but it’s a start.  It should hold us over until either Matt and Mike get back from the cabin or we can contact town.”  He shrugs.  “Besides, we need to totally rethink our plans on how we deal with this shit.  Wandering around the house isn’t working - unless _you_ found Ashley?”

The snark in his tone makes Chris want to slap the shit out of him too.  “ No.  We haven’t.”  He sighs heavily.  “ You’re right.  We need to stop and think about this.  Take a logical approach to this.”  His forehead creases as a thought strikes him.  “ Hang on.  There’s no power.  How are we supposed to make hot cocoa?”

“Camp stove.”  He grins at Chris’s skeptical expression. “No, seriously.  We used to camp up here during the summer and Mom couldn’t bear to throw it away once they got too busy to keep it up.  It’s in the kitchen.”  He flashes a thumbs up before turning and walking to the kitchen, assuming (correctly) that they would follow.  Chris makes sure to keep Emily between himself and the dark-haired boy, just to be sure nobody snatches her in their short trek.  Part of him feels like he’s being extremely paranoid, but he dismisses it without a second thought.  It’s always better to be safe than sorry.

They sit together at the counter, Emily staring fixedly at the wall over his left shoulder, while Josh bends to grab the camp stove out from the bottom cabinet.  Chris gnaws on his lip as he watches him gather the tools and ingredients for the job.  “ We don’t have milk for the cocoa; is water cool?”

“I’d prefer coffee, if you have it.”  Emily’s cool voice is still slightly shaking.  Chris nods his agreement and doodles on the counter with his finger.  

Josh shrugs. “Suit yourself.  Coffee it is.  Instant okay?  Hope so because I’m not dealing with the shit I have to do to make coffee in this place.  I can’t even do that - the bean grinder needs electricity.  Oh wait, no, Mom bought that unique little hand-grinder thing at the flea market.  You know, I thought I’d hate the flea market, but it’s surprisingly cool.  I bought this super old 1920s hand-crank camera that _still works_ - can you believe it?  It’s ninety years old and it still works great! - for thirty bucks.  Thirty bucks!  I looked it up on eBay and I can sell it to a collector for 20 grand.  I mean, I’m keeping it obviously, but still!  Can you imagine?  So now I go with mom to every auction and flea market and garage sale just to see what shit I can snatch up.  I even got an unopened copy of _The Amazing Mr Bickford_!  Do you have any idea - “

Chris tunes him out and twists around to stare at the living room.  He heard something.  He  _knows_ he heard something.  Emily is picking at the turquoise nail polish on her fingers, so she probably didn’t hear it.  Josh, in his mildly-panicked rambles, most likely hasn’t heard it either.  “ Wait here,” he mutters to Emily as he slips off the barstool and walks back through the living room, down the small hallway towards the bathroom.   _Please let it be Jess.  Please let it be Jess._

“Jess?  That you?”  He raps on the door lightly with his knuckles.  It swings open at his touch, and he yelps and leaps back, smacking into the wall behind him.  “ Jesus!”  The mannequin gazes stoically over his shoulder, its painted eyes completely void of anything other than old peeling paint.  He presses a hand over his rapidly beating heart and takes a few slow deep breaths.  God.  Okay.  It’s just the Lumberjack.

Wait.  Why is the Lumberjack in here?  He was in the basement - but now that he thinks about it, he wasn’t in the basement earlier when Emily found the myoglobin… but who would have brought him upstairs?  Maybe the freak that’s terrorizing them.  Move the mannequin around, scare the shit out of the people who you’re chasing… psychological warfare.  It makes sense.  That’s… creepy.  He shudders and turns away, continuing his search through the smaller rooms.

He doesn’t find anything.  Even after his third thorough search, he finds nothing out of place besides the mannequin.  He shakes his head and glances at his watch.  Shit, he’s been gone almost half an hour.  Coffee should be done.  He should head back, tell them what he’s found - and who he hasn’t.  There’s no sign of Jessica or Ashley anywhere.  It’s a little unnerving.  

Emily’s body sprawled out on the floor of the living room is even more unnerving.  

“Emily!”  Chris rushes over, dropping to his knees beside her and shaking her gently.  Her head flops on her shoulders; she doesn’t respond.  He checks her pulse and doesn’t find anything at all - something that would terrify a nurse but, since he’s fully aware that he can’t find a pulse to save his life, doesn’t really faze him that much.  He shakes her again gently, calling her name again and again.

Then, he slumps over her body as something heavy smashes against the back of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SWEET ZOMBIE JESUS ON A SEGWAY
> 
> Speaking as a straight girl, lemme tell ya - writing gay sex is HARD. This is my first time writing it, so I wanted to make it as accurate as possible. MANY THANKS to my pansexual fiance for talking to me about his sexual history to make this as true to real life as possible.
> 
> (Also, the number of times I almost hit "post without preview" instead of "preview" when checking my paragraph sizes while I was writing the actual smut part...holy fuck. I was having mini heart attacks every twenty minutes.)
> 
> As you probably noticed and as I mentioned in the comments, I update the tags based on what happens in the fic. It's partly because I want to avoid spoilers. It's also partly that I don't want to write myself into a corner by starting a fic with THIS ship and ending it with THAT ship but being too afraid of reader backlash to change the tags. ^_^
> 
>  
> 
> I crave validation. Reblogs and retweets are super, super loved and appreciated:  
> twitter ✎ @sickbee2017  
> tumblr ✎ overly-critical-pogostick.tumblr.com
> 
>  
> 
> COMING SOON -  
> \- Are we in a Saw movie?  
> \- Why exactly am I here with YOU?  
> \- Baby, it's still fucking cold outside, get me a goddamn blanket.  
> \- YOU get a jumpscare and YOU get a jumpscare and YOU get a jumpscare...


	8. And Now, They Don't Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is Josh's turn to have some fun...

She legitimately cannot tell if the darkness is receding or not.  Her eyelids are so heavy. She just wants to close her eyes and go back to sleep, but there are sounds coming from around her that don’t seem right at all.  She slowly forces her eyes open, squinting against the bright halogen light and the onslaught of pink.  The entire room is painted a vibrant pink, like the color a preteen paints her room when she goes through her fluffy unicorns phase - the color _she_ had painted her room during her own short, short fluffy unicorn phase before her Ultimate Goth days took over most of her early teenage years and ruined what little reputation she’d managed to glean in elementary school.

 

Jessica opens her eyes slowly, allowing her eyes to adjust to the frankly obscene amounts of coral surrounding her - _god, they even painted the ceiling pink -_ and takes in her surroundings.  Her mockery of the color is more true than she realized; it looks like she’s in a preteen’s bedroom.  Flowers and posters of random unicorns and puppies are haphazardly splayed all around the walls.  An old TV is against the wall before her; it looks old - and are those rabbit ears?  What, is this, the 50s? Her laptop is bigger than that entire TV screen.

 

_Focus, Jess._

She is lying on a twin bed, flat on her stomach, her arms flopping lazily over the edge of the bed.  She tries to sit up, but she can barely move her arms.  Now that her vision is clearing, she can see leather straps around her wrist and a small chain binding the straps to something; she assumes that it is the bed frame below.  She can’t turn her head enough to see, but she can feel a light pressure on her back and guesses that she’s tied down there too.  She tries to wiggle, but the tight straps only dig harder into her skin.  She’s - she’s shivering.  Why is she shivering?  It’s not even that cold in - okay, she can’t even finish that thought with a straight face.  It’s absolutely freezing in here.  With a heavy sigh, she lowers her face to the soft old quilt beneath her and closes her eyes.

 

“Is someone else here?  Who are you?”

 

Jessica raises her head slowly and squints slightly.  Past her hands, she can barely make out the tousled strawberry-blonde hair in front of her.  “A-Ashley?”

 

“Jessica?  Oh thank God - it’s Jessica, Em - ”

 

“I heard.”  Jessica groans at that new cold voice.  She’s been knocked out, kidnapped, and is currently being held hostage - with _this_  frigid bitch?  Could life _get_  any worse right now? 

 

Despite Jess’s silent raving, Emily kept right on running her mouth.  “Does it really matter that she’s here, Ashley?  I feel that we have more important things to worry about right now than whether or not the actual worst person in the world is being held hostage here with us.”

 

Jessica is about to snap back with an eloquent ‘what the _actual_ fuck’, but Ashley speaks before she can even open her mouth.  “Extra eyes never hurt, Emmy.  Jessica’s different perspective can catch some details that we might miss.  I’m really glad she’s here with us.”

 

Jessica can’t resist.  “Yeah, _Emmyyyy,_ ” she mockingly sang, trying to lean forward more; she is rewarded with a sharp tug at her waist and is forced to wriggle back instead.

 

She can practically hear Emily seething.  “Don’t call me ‘Emmy’, Ashley.  ‘Em’ is fine, but ‘Emmy’?”  She pauses for a moment, and Jessica is convinced that she’s shuddering in revulsion.  “Never call me that again.”

 

Before anyone can even react, the TV flickers on to a channel of loud, crackling static for a few seconds.  Jessica flinches in pain at the sudden noise, but before she can react, the static is gone.  A face appears on the screen; Ashley lets out a shrill squeak of fright and apparently tries to recoil but bangs her head on the metal frame of the bed with a clang.  Jessica can only stare in horror.  Whoever it is has oil black hair flopping all over his shoulders - _ever heard of conditioner?  Jesus_.  The skull’s mouth is…definitely not just teeth.  The gums are just as pink as the walls of this room.  The teeth are enormous and yellowish-white; if they were real, they would be rotting out of his head. The eyes are gouged out, as if stabbed with a screwdriver by a drunk and angry hermit; where normal eyes should be are two black abysses with a single white gleaming dot of light staring back at you.  It remind her of the eyes from that Six Shifts at Sally’s game; just comparing the eyes with the memory starts her shivers right back up again. 

 

_“Hello, girls.”_ His…not-lips do not move; his voice is deep and distorted, like the masked man from Saw. 

 

“A voice modulator,” Emily murmurs; Jessica can barely make out her words.  “He doesn’t want us to know - ”

 

_“Did I ASK you to SPEAK?!”_  He screams the words ‘ask’ and ‘speak’.  He leans forward so the upper half of his face is filling the entire screen.  Ashley squeaks and bangs her head on the bed frame again.  The man leans back and clears his throat, apparently calming down quickly.  “If there are no more interruptions, I will continue.  Welcome, ladies, to my little sleepover party.”  His voice raises in pitch, as if he’s mocking them with a girly voice.  “We’re gonna have so much fun, you guys!  We can paint our nails and braid each other’s hair and talk about _booooyyyyyyys_ , and watch movies - hey, let’s start with that!  Let’s watch a movie!”  He leans forward again, though not as far this time; Jessica gets the feeling that if he wasn’t wearing a mask, she’d see him smile a wicked little smile. “I do hope you like it.  It’s one of my favorites.  I’m sorry there’s no popcorn; mommy said we can’t have popcorn in our room.  Enjoy the movie, kiddos.”

 

The screen blinks black.  Emily shifts uncomfortably.  “This… _psychopath_ went through all this trouble to kidnap and confine us just to make us watch a film?  This is ridiculous - no, _ludicrous_.”

 

“Those words mean literally the same thing,” Jessica mutters.

 

Emily ignores her.  “I wonder what kind of mental strain he is suffering from?  He clearly needs help.  I wonder if Jessica can recommend a good psychiatrist for him; lord knows she’s been to plenty of - ”

 

The TV screen exploded into static again; thank god it was only for a few seconds this time.  It faded into an old-timey movie logo countdown, complete with beeps for every number.  There is no black screen at the end of the countdown, which throws Jessica for a loop; it just cuts to a strange animated movie.  The art style reminds her of a crossover between Aladdin and Scooby Doo.  It’s…very interesting, to say the least.  She settles into her bed prison and focuses on the screen.  She’s trapped here, unable to move.  She may as well watch this weird shit.

 

It’s almost incomprehensible.  Six people wander around a mansion, sometimes breaking into pairs and disappearing into rooms for…well, she knows exactly what they’re going into the rooms for.  She huffs quietly after about ten minutes and grumbles, “What even is this?  I mean, it’s been how fucking long of just teens running around an old house and boning on every piece of furniture that won’t break under their weight.  There’s no story to this at all.”

 

“Shut up.”  She can hear Emily squirm and swear quietly before going still once again.  “I think…I think those characters are supposed to be caricatures of us.” 

 

As if on cue, the video fades to black, then blinks back to life instantly.  This time, they can see the girl with strawberry blonde hair running down a long hallway before bursting into a room that eerily resembled a room from a 1960s ghost movie.  She is hugging a bundle to her chest as if her life depends on it.  She glances around in terror, never realizing that a man steps out from behind the door to stand directly behind her and breathe over her shoulder. 

 

Ashley gasps as the animated girl screams and the psycho presses his hand over her mouth.  “I - oh my god - I think that’s me.  That’s what happened to me!”

 

“And you only just realized that?” Emily snarks, leaning her head forward to glare at Ashley. 

 

“Oh, don’t be a dick, Emily,” Jessica snaps.  “Nobody’s in the mood to hear from a spoiled little brat who thinks she knows everything.”

 

“You're like a child lost in the woods, you know that? A total waste of space.”

 

Ashley gasps yet again - _her lungs have to be either rotting to pieces or really, really strong._ “Emily!  You can’t say that; that’s rude!”

 

Emily leaned back to glare at Ashley, her face turning red from the strain of holding her neck in such an awkward position.  “Frankly, I don't want to hear anything from someone who waits for others to decide what to do for them.”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Emily.  Nobody wants to hear your bitching right now.  If you can’t help us figure out a way out of here, maybe you should just keep your mouth shut and let us carry you out of here. You know, like you do _every day of your life._ ”

 

“Both of you, STOP it!”  Both girls fall into a shocked silence at Ashley’s scream.  Jessica stares at the back of Ashley’s head, noticing that her shoulders are shaking.  Is she crying?  She’s pretty sure Ashley’s crying.  “You t-two need to make up.  You used to be best friends, and now you’re always at each other’s throats.  You ruin _everyone’s_ fun with your constant cat-fighting.  Emily, Jessica didn’t steal your stupid boyfriend.  Jessica, Emily didn’t ruin your chances at that job; it was because you flirted with the boss.  Now apologize and get over it already!”

 

Emily and Jessica stare at Ashley in shocked silence.  Her shoulders are heaving with heavy pants, as if she’s exhausted from her extremely out-of-character rant.  Jessica wonders how long this explosive pressure has been building within her.  Guilt begins to pulse through her with every heartbeat, washing over her like waves at the beach.  She clears her throat.  “Emily - ”

 

“Save your drivel for a more opportune time.  We have to focus right now.”

 

The ignored video suddenly vanishes and is replaced by the Psycho’s face. _“Well, aren’t you three just the rudest people I’ve ever met?  You ignore my hard work and diligence on this little film just to bicker among yourselves like cats over the last little treat in the bowl - and over something so petty!  Nobody cares who stole whose boyfriend.  That is so minor.  You have bigger things to worry about now - like getting out of here alive.”_

“You’re not going to kill us.”  Emily’s voice slices right through his words like a frozen knife through lukewarm butter.  “You prefer to torture us.  It’s more fun for you, isn’t it?”

 

_“And now with the interruptions.  What is your obsession with being the end of the discussion, with having the last word?  It’s not polite to talk over someone, you know - and one of these days, learning that lesson is going to be what kills you.”_ He shakes his head and stretches his thickly gloved arms over his head.  “ _Now then.  I think a little explanation is in order, isn’t it?  You are all students in a school of some sort.  Well, now you’re enrolled in_ my _school, and the rules here are a little different.”_

“And what, pray tell, are these rules?”

 

_“Stop INTERRUPTING me!”_ To her credit, Emily doesn’t flinch as the Psycho slams his fists against what Jess is assuming is a table in front of him. _“Do I interrupt you?  Do I treat you like you don’t matter enough to finish a sentence?  No!  Now show me some goddamned RESPECT!”_ He sweeps his arm across the table, knocking several things to shatter on the ground, then grabbed the camera and brought it right up to his face.  The only thing they can see is the little white glint in his eye.

 

Emily stares right at him with her lips set into a thin line.  “Yes? If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, keep your mouth closed.”  Jessica swears softly into her shoulder.  This bitch is going to get them all killed if she doesn’t shut up for three seconds…

 

“ _Oh yes, I’m going to say something.”_ The Psycho leans back into his chair slightly, shifting the camera a little so the left half of his face was visible on the screen.  “ _I took you - and all of your friends - for a specific reason that I cannot disclose just yet.  You’ll find out soon enough, don’t worry - if you survive.”_

“If we survive?”  Ashley squeaks through her tears.  Jessica wants to squeeze her shoulders, but Ashley is just a few inches out of reach, and she cannot strain her arm far enough to even try.

 

The Psycho laughs, the voice modulator distorting it into a warbling gargle.  “ _Oh, don’t worry!  I’m not going to kill you.  Except…you know what?  I might kill_ you _.  I don’t really like your attitude.  If you don’t change it quickly, I might have to do a little personality readjustment, and I’m fairly certain that’s not something you want. Isn’t that right…_ Emmy?”

 

A soft hissing fills the room; quickly, Ashley and Emily begin to cough and wheeze.  Jessica tries to hold her breath, but panic forces her to inhale deeply.  She begins to cough heavily as well, hacking like she’s about to puke out a wretched, shriveled lung.  The room begins to fade around her, the final words of the Psycho ringing faintly in the back of her mind.

 

_“I sure hope you guys like Saw…because I want to play a little game.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW. It's been a while, hasn't it? Sorry for disappearing on you all. I've had writer's block for LITERALLY that entire time, until my friend Chris suggested something in passing and inspired me to write this chapter. I've also been hella busy... Hopefully I'll be able to write more often. (I get inspired by comments, btw. Fulfill my illogical need for validation.)
> 
> I also want to say THANK YOU to every single person who reads / has read this fic. I've put so much of myself into it, and the fact that so many of you have even read it, let alone left a kudos, just...fuckin blows my mind. I owe you guys so much. You're all so awesome.
> 
> This chapter was kind of hard to write. I wanted to go off on so many different tangents. I wanted to describe the video more. I wanted to just do so many things with this chapter and this is what I ended up with. If I get enough criticism that says "this sucks change it", I will probably just rewrite it ^_^


	9. Our Blood and Guts Are Out

He wakes alone, huddled in a soft flannel blanket on the rough old couch. It was comfortable when he was drunk, but now that he is quite hungover, he rather feels that the scratchiness of the upholstery is, at best, offensive to butts everywhere.  His head is pounding.  His mouth and throat are so dry that when he tries to swallow, he succeeds only in jiggling his adam’s apple a little bit.  The mere effort of trying churns his stomach, and he claps a hand over his mouth to make sure if he does vomit, he doesn’t splash all over the place.  He is really not in the mood to mop a hardwood floor with melted snow.  
  
Matt slowly stands up, keeping the blanket shrouded over his shoulder like a lumberjack’s cape, and shuffles to his pile of clothes still splayed about the cold, cold floor.  He very much doesn’t want to put them on, but he can’t really stay naked in a cold cabin surrounded by even colder snow.  His clothes are stiff, and he’s pretty sure they’re beginning to freeze, but he slings them on anyway.    
  
“Mike?”  After a few seconds of no response, he tries again.  “Hey, Mike!  You up?”  Still nothing.  With a sigh, he walks to the bedroom and flicks on the light.  The bed hasn’t been touched, and after a few minutes of searching, Matt has no choice but to declare that Mike is no longer in the cabin.  He hurries to the window and uses his elbow to wipe away the fog so he can see.  Sure enough, he can see the faint trail of footprints leading away from the cabin and heading toward the woodpile.  There is no sign of Mike anywhere near it, however, and Matt’s unsettling gut feeling is quickly proven right when he notices the clear indent of something - or someone - being dragged away following those footsteps.  
  
“Fuck.”  He throws on his coat (keeping the blanket firmly wrapped around his shoulders because he’s not dumb) and steps out into the snow.  It immediately fluffs into his boots - because of course it would, why wouldn’t it? - and soaks his socks within seconds.  He ignores it and continues stomping forward.  The closer he gets to the log pile, the clearer the mystery becomes.  There was clearly a scuffle of some kind.  Someone lost.  The log nestled in a snow bank a few feet away proves the winner cheated.  The winner then dragged the loser to - where?  That is the mystery to be solved now…other than ‘who did it’, of course, but that question will be eventually answered, and the only way to answer it is to follow the drag trail.  
  
Which Matt does.  
  
He stomps along the trail, grumbling as snowflakes flit into his eyelashes (and occasionally his eyes) and, somehow, up his nose.  He’s not a fan of the direction it is taking him.  It veers away from the house and into the backyard, where a large shed that more resembles a barn looms above him; it very clearly leads in through the front door.  He very much doesn’t want to go inside, but regardless, he pushes the door open and steps in.  
  
It is very dusty inside this shed.  He coughs as the door swings shut behind him, unleashing a cloud of dust that envelops him like an impromptu desert sandstorm.  He keeps walking forward, trying to free himself of the cloud, but every step adds to its bulk.  It is getting harder and harder to breathe.  Even the blanket can’t keep the dust away.  He begins to cough - hack - wheeze.  He stumbles over a loose floorboard and falls, launching a final assault of dust into the air.  He doesn’t try to get back up yet; he’s trying to relearn how to breathe.  When air is finally flowing freely from his lungs, he rubs the eyes from his eyes and opens them.  There is no dust hovering over the floor; he’s got a good foot of free air between the cloud and the floor.  Without even a second thought, he begins to shimmy across the floor like a soldier-in-training in all those army movies.  He knows the dust will eventually settle.  He knows he’s covering himself and the blanket in the stuff, but it is protecting him right now, and he can always toss it all in the washing machine later.    
  
The next room seems to be completely clear of dust; he kicks the door shut behind him and stands back up.  It is only now that he notices there is a giant fence in front of him, blocking him in this small portion of the enormous room.  Before him is a giant saw blade on a small cart, its track splitting into two leading directly to two bodies that are strung up like dead pigs in a freezer.  One of them is an apparently Josh, blood streaming from a gash on his forehead.  The other is Mike, who is squirming around in his constraints and clearly trying to escape from a very uncomfortable situation.  
  
“Mike!”  Matt slams against the fence, his fingers digging into the holes between the chain links.  
  
Mike stops squirming and glances around for him; when his eyes finally land on Matt, they light up with a fierce hope that they haven’t had since the accident.  “Matt!  Matt, man, thank god you’re here.  Help me get Josh out of here!  Get me out of here!”  
  
Matt flashes a thumbs up, then begins to search his half of the room.  He cannot find any opening; the fence is practically new and affixed to the ground so he can’t just wiggle underneath.  It reaches to the ceiling so there’s little chance he can climb over it.  There are no doors, no windows, no holes in the walls that he can find.  In frustration, he grabs the fence and rattles it back and forth. “I can’t get in there.  Try and get yourself free.”  
  
“Are you serious?  You think I haven’t been trying?”  To prove his point, Mike violently shakes his wrists tied tightly to a metal loop above his head.  “I can’t shake myself free, Matt.  I can’t even feel my hands anymore, and there’s something hard pressing into my stomach. You gotta find a - ”  
  
 _“Hello, and thank you all for joining me.”_  
  
The deep distorted voice startles them both; Matt leaps back from the chain link fence in surprise and stares around, searching for the its source.  There are speakers in the room, attached to the ceiling corners, but where are the wires?  There’s no way whoever this was could use the speakers to broadcast his voice without connecting the wires to the microphone.  How, then, is he doing this?  
  
 _“Tonight, we’re going to conduct a little experiment.  A test.”_  
  
“Terrible idea, man,” Mike shouts.  “I’m terrible at science, I’ll fifty shades of fuck it up!”  
  
“I don’t think he’s listening, Mike.”  
  
 _“Now for this experiment, we’ll need the cooperation of our two test subjects… Joshua Washington and Mike Munroe.”_  
  
“Now hang on!”  Mike rattles his ropes against their constraints again, but the disembodied voice wasn’t having any of it.  
  
 _“But we’re gonna need the help of one more brave participant to decide which subject will live and which will die.”_  
  
The boys both begin to yell at this revelation.  Mike screams obscenities at the top of his lungs, while Matt pleads with the voice.  “You can’t do this!  Just let them go, man!  This isn’t any way to solve whatever beef you have with these guys!  Just let them go, man!”  
  
 _“Please - please, please, everyone calm down.”_   Somehow, this works.  Both boys fall silent.  The voice continues, _“It’s all very simple.  Matthew, you can see both participants clearly, correct?  Good.  Now, this saw will turn on - ”_   With a roar, the small engine powering the saw blade roars to life, and the cart begins to inch forward.   _"In order to save the contestants, you must say one of their names.  For one to live, the other must die, for neither can live while the other survives."_  
  
“I didn’t agree to this!” Mike roars at the top of his lungs.  “I did not sign up for this shit!  I know my rights, you fucking sicko!  Let me go!  I demand my lawyer!  Matt, help us!”  
  
“What’s going on?”  They both whip around to Josh, whose head slowly begins to rise.  “What’s that noise?  Jesus - Mike?  Matt?  What’s going on?”  
  
“Josh, I -”  
  
 _“You have chosen to save Josh.”_   The saw whirs faster, the little cart slowly gaining speed down the track.    
  
“Bro!”  Mike shrieks, thrashing against his restraints.  “Matt, why - why did you do that?!  You could have saved us both!”  
  
“I didn’t mean to!”  Matt is stammering over every word.  “I was just - I was trying to talk to him, and - ”  
  
“What is that?”  Josh’s eyes widen with horror as the little cart chugs along the track toward them.  “Is that - is that a saw?  Mike, what the fuck is going on?  Matt?  Someone - ”  
  
 _"How interesting.  You seem far more interested in saving Mike than Josh."_ The saw stops abruptly right before the tracks split.  _"Well, you've been quite the participant, I must say.  I suppose I can accommodate you as a reward."_    The saw starts to move again, this time veering towards Josh and speeding towards him.  
  
"What?  No!"  Matt shrieks toward the speakers, beating furiously at the fence with clenched fists.  "This isn't what I asked for, this isn't what I wanted!"  
  
 _“It is too late to protest, Matt.  You have made your choice.  Watch the results of your decision - will you now learn that your actions have consequences?”_  
  
Josh is simply screaming now, writhing in a final attempt to break himself free.  Mike and Matt can only stare in horror as the saw blade shreds through his clothes, his skin, his large intestine.  Soon, Josh is silent, his head flopped forward onto his chest.  The lower half of his body slowly slumps down the large half-wall he's chained to, his organs sliding out of his abdomen like the sloppy innards of a raw turkey.    
  
 _“Farewell, Mike Munroe.”_  
  
The large boarded wall that is holding both boys in place suddenly drops below the floor, sliding neatly into place with a click.  Mike's screams are abruptly silenced.  The fence that is holding Matt back falls forward; he scrambles over it, shouting their names, and digging his fingers along the floor for a crack, a mark, any sign that the wall had even been there, but it is gone.  He doesn’t even notice the sobs wracking his body, the tears flowing freely down his face as he tears at the floorboards, breaking his nails until his fingers bleed, trying desperately to find out where his friends are.  
  
He can’t be too late.  He just can’t be.  
  
  
  
|-------▼-------|  
  
  
  
“That was intense.”  Josh pulls his head free of the hole he had cut out for it, letting the misshapen pig’s body in his blood stained clothing splat onto the ground.  “Didn’t see that coming, either.”  He grabs a lever and yanks it down to release the sleep gas into the barn above.  He then glances down at his own clothes - all of a pair of boxers and a T-shirt - and reaches for The Psycho’s overalls.  
  
 _I don’t think anybody saw that one coming._   Hannah swings from a rope hanging from the ceiling like she’s Helen Reddy in a movie about a boy and his dragon.   _I mean, I seriously thought he was gonna show you the axe, man.  Why did he pick you?_  
  
“I’m about 500% sure that he didn’t mean to.  He started talking to me when I ‘woke up’ - ”  Air quotes, air quotes for days.  “ - so I think that triggered the voice activation.”  He shrugs into the straps and grabs his gray gloves.  “It’s whatever.  Everything went according to plan, so does it really matter?”  
  
 _I mean…you might have to redo that one trap you have. The one with both of them.  Mike’s supposed to be gone, remember?  So how are you going to pull that one off?  I mean, it's not like you can just take Mike's place and play the victim again.  You're supposed to be dead._  
  
“Ehh.  Maybe.”  Josh stomps his boots to settle his feet inside the extra stuffing and stands up.  “All right, I’m’a need you to shut up now.  I have to figure out what to do.  I can't put Mike with Matt again, and I can't be with either of them, so...”  He sighs.  “Entrapping and torturing your friends is hard.  I think if I had to do it all again, I’m make everyone have their own personal trap or something.”  
  
 _Yeahhhh, you really should’ve thought this one through more._   Hannah hops down and tilts her head quizzically at Mike.  _He's so cute when he's unconscious and bleeding.  I really think that if you hadn’t killed me, we would have made beautiful babies together.  You think he chokes girls?_  
  
“I don’t wanna hear your kinks, Hannah.  Are you going to help?”  
  
 _…I am a ghost, Josh.  I can’t even pick up a pencil to stab you with - not that I haven’t tried, mind you._  
  
“Then go away.  I’m on a time crunch here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy feces, an actual update???? Exactly one week later????? What is happening to me, man????  
> I didn't even plan for that title to coincide with this chapter. The one time I get lucky, man...
> 
> So, this chapter was originally supposed to go in a VERY different direction, but after reading it himself, my beta reader advised I change it to this. I hope it works.  
> (He also advised that I hold on to NEXT week's chapter until, you know, next week. Sorry, guys.)
> 
>  
> 
> Hit me up with your ideas, headcanons, and constructive criticism! I'm always looking for feedback. 
> 
> See you guys next week!


	10. We Spread Our Bones Across the Table At Night

What's going on?  He's clearly asleep - but it seems wrong.  He's not lying down; he can tell that from the ache in his lower back and the base of his spine.  His head is so fuzzy, and his eyes are so heavy, but he forces them open anyway.  Oh god, he can't see shit.  He tries to blink the sleep away - maybe that's why he's having such a hard time seeing.  But no - everything around him is still pitch black.  There is something on his face, but they're not his glasses.  Where are his glasses?  What's going on?  It feels like he's wearing a VR headset.  Surely they don't have VR at the lodge - why would they?  The Washingtons only come up here once a year - and since the accident, nobody's been up here besides Josh and the gang's visit now.  He tries to lift his hands to pull off the headset, but they seem to be tied down, as are his legs.  He tries to speak, to call out to someone.  When he moves his lips, however, something tugs painfully at them.  It would appear that there is duct tape over them.  Interesting.  
  
 _"Good evening."_   A voice, rumbling and deep, murmurs into his ears, as though whoever is speaking is directly beside him.  It's coming from both ears, though, so it has to be headphones.  Is this some strange form of sensory deprivation torture?  Surely not, for there would have been nothing but silence if it was.  _"I challenge you, Chris, to a little game.  I rather think you'll enjoy it.  Your hands are free now.  Reach forward, and pick up the Gamestation controller."_   He obeys, pulling the controller toward him and feeling the smooth buttons and grips.  It's eerily comfortable in his hands.  He's definitely spent way too much time playing video games.  There's something off about this controller, though.  There seems to be a weird little wire coming out of the back.  He can't reach very far; though his hands are free, his arms are still tied to the chair.  It's probably some weird form of battery charger or something.  The wire is definitely copper, anyway; it makes his fingers tingle.  He never thought his copper allergy would ever come in handy, but clearly he was wrong.  
  
 _"Well done.  The game will now load.  You'll find it familiar, I think."_  
  
He recoils from the blinding burst of light all around him, blinking rapidly until it's tolerable.  Once he's able to see again, he glances around.  Yes, this game looks _very_ familiar.  It's a game he and Josh spent countless hours playing when they were younger, always trying to best the other, with the loser having to buy pizza and soda for the entire group:  Ultimate Vengeance, fighter-vs-fighter battle arena where characters fight to the death (their deaths usually uncharacteristically graphic and gruesome; to this day, he's rather surprised it only got a PG-13 rating when they were kids).  He wants to relax; this is a cakewalk, especially if it's against bots, but he doesn't.  Instead, he straightens his shoulders and leans forward, tensing for the fight.  It's been a few years since he's played this game.  He's going to be a little bit rusty.    
  
Chris doesn't get to choose his character, which irritates him a little bit (oh, fine, it irrates him a lot).  He has spent years testing characters to find the optimum mix of strength, speed, health, and special skill power.  The character _he_ finally chose (and would like to choose here) is Cerama, a ninja/samurai combo who can dodge with ease, yet still land devastating blows to her enemy.  The character he _got_ , however, is Damar, a slow warrior wielding a two-handed claymore that is bigger than he is (thank you, anime logic) but can knock out a quarter of the enemy's health bar with a single hit (when he hits, that is) and has enough health to take out a combination finishing strike with ease.  It is his least favorite character, both to fight as and to fight against.  Well, apparently beggars can't be choosers.    
  
The screen changes again, this time to a side-view of a battle arena, which a backdrop of cheering crowds.  The countdown flashes in that garish and annoying style across the screen; then, with the blare of a trumpet, the battle begins.  He holds his finger on the 'guard' key, waiting to see what his enemy will do.  He doesn't envy the enemy's character choice either.  Aralali is the token buxom bimbo of the game.  She may be fast, but she can barely deal damage.  Her enormous hair and breasts are almost the same size, keeping her from properly dodging, and one good combo can completely demolish her health bar.  She truly is the worst character in the game - and judging by her strange combination of dashing, dodging, and guarding, the enemy doesn't know how to play this game at all.  
  
This should be an easy win.  
  
Damar slowly stomps forward and raises his claymore for a direct strike to her face, but Aralali somehow manages to aim a quick punch at his chest.  It is a mere blip of damage, but the controller's rumble sticks whir anyway.  Chris suddenly feels a mild shock to his chest, as though someone has taken a taser with a nearly-dead battery and zapped him with it.  He jumps in pain and surprise, completely messing up his hit, and falls back to his end of the map to contemplate this new development.  As far as he knew, feeling physical pain when playing a virtual reality game is, at this point in its development, impossible.  Perhaps that is what the copper wire is for - to send a signal when he takes damage to activate a machine that zaps him?  Highly overcomplicated and contrite, but effective.  He can still feel the ghost of the tingling.  
  
He forces Damar to again bumble forward, this time aiming a swinging spin attack so that Aralali cannot get close.  He lands a few solid hits and swears that he can hear a muffled yell from outside the virtual reality's world, but it cannot be.  It was just Aralali saying her usual ditzy line, "Oh gosh, why would you hurt lil' ol' me?" before walking forward to punch him again.  The enemy player probably doesn't understand how combination hits work, and as the machine zaps him again with a slightly stronger jolt, he decides he just doesn't care.  This pain may not be intense, but it's enough to make him not want more.  He's going to wipe the floor with this kid.  
  
It only takes a few more swings to take Aralali down.  She flops onto her back with a far too sexual gasp of pain.  Damar puts his enormous foot directly between her breasts, silently slams the tip of his claymore into her face, then pulls it back out.  For now, the thin line of blood in the center of her face is the only indication that anything happened; then her head just slumps apart, like a watermelon cut in two.  As everything spills out, the word **ANNIHILATED** scrawls across the screen, followed by the sequence 1 OUT OF 5 - WON!  Oh god, he has to play four more of these sick games?  God.  
  
At least he gets Fenito next.  
  
Each match is more difficult than the last.  He's getting zapped several times in a row as the enemy player learns more about the game and is quick to compensate for past failings; each zap is more painful, more drawn out.  He's convinced that the tasing device is set up to make each jolt more powerful than the last.  Now he's starting to get a wave of dizziness with every shock.  He has to win now, or soon he'll get a zap that knocks him completely out of this fucked up tournament.  
  
\----  
  
Mike is pressing buttons right and left, but he still doesn't understand this game.  How he managed to win the last match, he certainly doesn't know - and the fact that he just won this one completely blows his mind.  Yeah, he plays video games, but he's never played this Ultimate Vengeance thing before, no matter how much Josh and Chris begged him to.  He just isn't in to fighting games; although he will admit, having his very life on the line does make the game a lot more interesting.    
  
He gets this one chick named Lote, which he absolutely has no clue what to do with.  Her skills list is way longer than Aralali's, and he barely has time to even skim what she can do before the match begins.  He just returns to his own signature brand of just pushing buttons until he either dies or wins - though he really, really hopes he wins, because the electric jolts to his chest are incredibly painful, and he's not sure how many he can still take.    
  
This match is the worst of them all.  He's tired.  His fingers are cramping.  Whoever the fuck he's fighting against - he thinks he remembers Carala or Carama or fuck it, he'll just call her Caramel - keeps getting hits in and zapping him.  He's feeling dizzy and a little sick.  All he can do is just keep pushing buttons over and over and over and  
  
 **ANNIHILATED**.  
  
Mike stares as Lote hops onto Caramel's shoulders, bends over her head, and rips her intestines out with her bare hands.  He...won?  How?  All he did was button mash.  It's...whatever.  He doesn't care.  He's exhausted now and so thankful that this shitty game is over with.  God.  He'll never touch a controller again.  
  
 _"Oh wow.  I don't think anybody saw that one coming.  How awesome was that?  Does it matter?  This was the most fun you two will have in a while.  It's only going to get worse from here, boys._  
  
Two large rough hands pull the VR headset and the headphones from his head; he recognizes the Psycho as the one who fought with him at the cabin while he was collecting firewood.  He had to be the same sicko that murdered Josh too.  He glares, fighting back tears of that particular memory, as the Psycho walks across and lifts the headset of another player - Chris?  His eyes widen, as do Chris's, but his widen in surprise and shock, and he's pretty sure Chris's mimic his because of pure rage.  Somebody beat him at his own game; Chris never took that well before.  Why exactly would he take that lying down now?  He wouldn't.  He won't.  Mike can see the murder in his eyes as the Psycho shoves a lever all the way down, and the worst jolt yet rattles both of their bodies to the core.  He can barely see Chris slump over in his chair before his own eyes close, fading back into the only respite he can find in this fucked up world he's trapped in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is Monday, my dudes.......AAAAAAA
> 
> Ahem.
> 
> So it's Monday again, and you know what that means...Update Time!
> 
> This chapter is rather short, but it's chunky. I'm terrible at describing video games (which is the reason I'm writing an entire book on the damn things...that's right. I like to punish myself.) so this chapter is probably not that great. The action comes back next week, so check back next Monday!


	11. We Cut Our Fingers Off

“You have got to be kidding me.”  Jessica stands before the trial with her hands on her hips.  She is furious.  She and her friends (…fine, and Emily) have been kidnapped and forced to watch some stupid animated video of their kidnapping.  Then they were knocked out again.  Now she’s standing in front of some kind of bullshit American Ninja Warrior course over a cliff.  Oh, and she’s no longer wearing her warm and comfy clothing.  Someone - probably the sicko that kidnapped them - changed her outfit to a pair of black shorts and a hot pink sports bra…in the middle of winter…on the top of a mountain.  This psycho has clearly never heard of hypothermia.  She shivers, her chattering teeth sending little puffs of steam from her lips, and hugs herself tightly.  God.  This little vacation party that Josh planned absolutely sucks.  
  
  
Ashley groans behind her, and Jess turns around to kneel beside her.  “Hey, kiddo.  How’re you feeling?”  The girl beneath her sluggishly shrugs and allows Jess to pull her to her feet.  “Come on, you gotta wake up.  It’s time for the next stupid game.”  
  
  
“I would appreciate it if you stopped mocking my little trials, Jessica.  I’ve worked very hard on this particular trap, and I rather thought you, at least, would enjoy it.”  The Psycho’s voice sounds wounded, but she can definitely hear the ticking time bomb beneath his words.  He’s not straight up telling her that if she doesn’t shut up, she’ll regret it - but he doesn’t need to, does he?  She grinds her teeth and keeps quiet.  She’s not going to do anything to risk either of their lives, as much as she wants to.  
  
  
“What is this?”  Ashley stares at the strange course.  “It looks awful.  I don’t think even you can get across this thing.”  
  
  
Jessica tries to lighten the mood.  “Oh, come on.  It’s not like you need to be a ninja to get through this thing!”  Ashley just glances at her with an odd expression.  “Get it?  Ninja?  Because this is an American Ninja Warrior course?”  
  
  
“I’m not speaking to you.”  
  
  
“Ooh, I have another one.  How do you give a ninja directions?”  After a stiff pause, she finishes the joke regardless.  “Don’t worry, he’ll find you!”  Ashley tries to suppress a snort, but Jessica catches it and grins impishly.  “Ahh, gotcha.  I knew you’d like that one.  Want another one?”  
  
  
“I have one I think you’ll enjoy.”  Jessica groans at the sound of the Psycho’s almost-eager voice cutting through her attempt to make Ashley feel better - and it had been working until he had butt in.  “Do ninjas believe in God?”  No response.  “C’mon guys.  Give me something.  Jessica, you’re the queen of shitty jokes.  Give me something.”  
  
  
She sighs heavily.  “Fine.  Uhh - they don’t believe in God because they’ve already killed him?”  Ashley snorts again - score one of Jessica.  
  
  
“Ooh, that one was good.  I think that’s even better than the one I had.  Let me write that down for future reference… there.  Okay.  Now my punchline:  Do ninjas believe in God?  The real question is…DO YOU?”  The voice begins to cackle, a strange muffled choking that sounds like he’s trying to keep it out of his microphone.  Biting her lip, Ashley glances at Jessica pleadingly.  Jess responds by flipping her hand carelessly.  “Go ahead.  Laugh.  Mine was better than his, though.”  Ashley finally allows herself to break into peals of laughter with the occasional  ̶a̶d̶o̶r̶a̶b̶l̶e̶  snort slipping through.  Jessica can’t help but smile at this.  She hasn’t seen Ashley like this since the accident.  Come to think of it, she hasn’t really seen Ashley since the accident.  Sure, they had their occasional ‘spend the night reading trashy romance novels and watching old Disney movies high as kites’, but that was rare now.  They were both so busy… plus they haven’t really hung out since junior high… they’ve just drifted apart, that’s normal for best friends since elementary school…  
  
  
What is this shitty feeling?  Is this what they call guilt?  Ugh.  It’s really gross.  
  
  
“See, we’re having a good time.  We’re having some laughs.  This is fun!  But it’s time for the fun to end - at least, for you.”  The Psycho’s voice drops all pretense of mirth to return to its normal growl.  “Ashley.  Jessica.  The time has come for the two of  you to show me your technical skills and your ability to work as a team.  Jessica can get across this course, no problem.  Ashley, however…cannot.  Jessica, it is your duty to help Ashley across this athletic course - and the cliff it was built over - in less than ten minutes.  Oh, and one more thing - Jessica still has some of that sleep agent in her system.  I wonder what will happen if I - oh, whoops.”    
  
  
A rock beside Jessica’s face suddenly falls out of the rock wall beside her, and a little nozzle squirts some kind of smoke into her face.  She coughs and gags, but it’s too late.  Whatever it is, is already in her system.  She recognizes the smell somewhat - it smells like weed.  Really, really, really strong weed.  If it is what she thinks it is, she’s absolutely screwed.  
  
  
“Ahh, my apologies, Jessica.  It seems I accidentally set up my sprayer system to squirt you with the dab smoke instead of the paralytic one.  That’s right, Jessica - dabs.  Highly concentrated THC, instantly melted into smoke by a red hot bong tip.  One dab hit has the potency of four joints, and you just got it all.  Within three minutes, that high is going to punch you in the face like Harambe on coke.  Have fun finishing the course now.”  
  
  
“That’s fucking cheating!”  Jessica throws the fallen rock at one of the speakers; she misjudged her aim, so the rock misses by a few feet and sails harmlessly into the abyss below.  
  
  
“I call it ‘giving you a handicap’, little miss Gymnastics Queen.  Ashley has to be able to keep up somehow, right?  Now then.  The clock is ticking, ladies.  Ten minutes to complete this course - or you both fall to your absolutely guaranteed deaths.  Good luck.  I’ll see you on the other side.”  
  
  
Ashley is trembling violently, holding her arms so tightly against her chest that they’re practically melting into each other.  Her expression - her eyes - are just so eerily calm.  Jessica cannot tell if she’s having a panic attack, simply freezing, or perhaps both - and she doesn’t care.  She gently grabs Ash’s arms and pulls her closer.  “Hey.  Hey.  We’re gonna be fine.  I can get us both through this, no problem.  Come on, we gotta go.”  
  
  
“I know.”  Ash’s teeth are rattling in her skull.  “I’m freezing.  It’s gotta be like -2 in here.  Let’s get this shit over with so we can share the hot tub, yeah?”  
  
  
Jess laughs despite herself, filling the air between them with steam that reeked of non-consensual marijuana.  “You’re a badass ninja.  Let’s go.”  She turns and hops onto the monkey bar rings, determined to beat this course before the weed even settles into her system.  She will fucking show him.  
  
  
Pity that it takes hold less than halfway across.    
  
  
It feels like a punch to the face.  She is dangling over a seemingly endless chasm, trying to coax her friend across a nearly-impossible obstacle course, and suddenly she feels like she’s simply floating in the air.  Ashley has to grab her hand and guide it back up to the pole they’re clinging to, reminding her simply and quietly over and over again not to let go, stay focused, keep eyes forward and ears on me.  Jess doesn’t really care at this point.  She’s so giddy - haa, like Sam’s last name!  Giddings, giddy.  That’s so funny!  She giggles almost uncontrollably and relays this revelation to Ashley, who also laughs - but it kinda sounds like she’s just faking it?  Is she just faking it?  Oh god, why would she do something like that?  That’s so meannnn -   
  
  
“Jessie, honey, you gotta keep moving forward.  Grab that rope, okay?  Can you get across the rope for me?”    
  
  
Jess is dimly aware of Ashley’s calm guidance, but she doesn’t respond.  She obeys blindly, dumbly, still giggling to herself as she moves hand over hand across the rope.  This is one of the best games she’s ever played - and she gets to do it with her bestestest friend ever!  “How come we never hang out anymore, Ashieee?”  
  
  
“Um - I don’t know, Jessie.  Can you grab that tire swing, please?”  
  
  
Jess impatiently grabs the tire swing and hangs on until Ashley’s climbed on.  “That’s not an answerrrrrr, Ashie.  You just stopped hanging out with me.  I thought you liked reading trashy smut and watching movies.  Was it boring?  I’m so sorry - ”  
  
  
“Come on across, Jessie.  Can we talk about this later, honey?”  God, her voice is always so calm.  It’s really relaxing.  It makes her want to take a nap right now.  She flops onto the tire swing and whines, “I’m tiiiiiiirrrrrrrred.  Are we done yet?”  
  
  
“Not quite, babes, not quite.  Just focus, okay?  When we get to the other side, we can take an awesome nap.  Does that sound good?”  
  
  
“I wanna take a nap with you.”  Ashley pouts as she grabs the handles of the gliding part of the course and slides all the way down to the weird trampoline thing.  “Sleeping alone suuuuucks.  Why can’t we nap together like we used to?”  When Ashley doesn’t reply for a second, Jess feels something she’s never felt while high:  panic.  “Ashie?  Ashie!”  
  
  
“I’m still here, hon.”  Ash’s voice is strangled.  “We can definitely nap together like we used to.  Come on.  Let’s get across safe and sound, okay?”  
  
  
“Two minutes left, ladies.  Two minutes.  Can you make it across?  How’s it hanging, Jess?”  
  
  
She’s almost certain she can hear Ashley swearing under her breath.  This is not okay.  The cloud of absolute chill seems to lift for a moment, and with fuzzy eyes, she can see that they’re almost across.  A sober Jess would have finished several minutes ago.  She still has to prove herself right. She still has to prove that she can beat anything this guy can throw at her.  “We can dooooo it.”  She grabs Ashley’s hand and plants it on her hip.  “Hold on there.  Just follow me.  This last part is hard.  I think we can doooo it.”  
  
  
They land on a final platform in front of a bridge.  “I’ve seen this one,” Ashley whispers.  “The planks on the bridge will fall apart once you touch them, so you have to be fast.  We can’t go one at a time, either.  How are we gonna do this?”  
  
  
“I’ll carry you.”  Jess drops into a squat, holding onto the rails of the bridge to be able to help herself back up.  
  
  
“You can’t carry me, I’m way too heavy for you!”  
  
  
“Gymnasts are a lot stronger than people give us credit for, babes.”  Jess flings her head back and grins.  “C’mon, hop on.  I’m ready.  This bridge is gonna be easy-peasy, Ashie-smashie.  Haha, get it?  Because your name is Ashie and it rhymes with - ”  
  
  
“Hush with the jokes until we’re done, babes.”    
  
  
Ashley hesitantly climbs onto Jess’s back.  Jess waits until she’s settled, then stands back up and gingerly sets her foot on the first rung.  Before she can put enough weight on it to allow her to keep moving on, it snaps free with a ‘pop’ like an octopus tentacle releasing the neck of the victim of his latest hickies and plummets into the gorge of death.  Jess’s weight shifts hard, and she stumbles forward and across a few more planks that all collapse beneath her weight.  Ashley whimpers and tightens her grip around Jessica’s neck.  The room is swinging back and forth now, like a pendulum in a haunted house’s token grandfather clock, and she can’t even tell how much of it is from the rocking of the bridge or the THC fucking with her brain.  It’s starting to make her dizzy, and that’s not helping at all.  She swallows another one of her stomach’s attempts at vomiting and keeps surging forward - until her foot plunges through one of the planks and sends them both shooting downward.  Ashley screams; Jessica clings to the rope railing with every ounce of strength she can spare.  She slowly pulls herself back up, planting her feet onto the ropes alongside the planks themselves and inching forward, only using the planks when she absolutely has to.  
  
  
And then they land on solid ground, just as the Psycho announces that “time is up, ladies!”  Ashley rolls over and curls into the fetal position, sobbing quietly into the dusty rock.  Jess spends the next three minutes vomiting over the edge of the cliff and completely ignoring the Psycho’s protests that she should absolutely stop.  Her hands are stinging with welts from all the rope burns she's procurred.  When she can finally control her stomach (or when it’s empty; she can’t really tell at this point), she crawls to Ashley and pulls the weeping girl into her lap.  “We’re free,” she whispers softly.  “We made it, Ashie.  We made it across.  We did it.”  
  
  
“Awwww, how cute.  This is really a Precious Moments memory right here.  God, I wish I had my camera; I could make millions selling this as a motivational posters.  Buuuuut, time’s up.  Now it is time for us to move on to the next test.  Are you guys ready to take another nap?”  
  
  
Jessica presses a kiss to Ashley’s forehead and holds her tighter as the gas envelops her, dragging her back into that dreaded void of nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh yeah writing High Ashley is really super tough. I was going to go with the paralytic stuff but my friend suggested this and I just went with it.  
> Myeh.
> 
> I CRAVE validation. Leave a kudos or a comment to let me know how I'm doing. I accept all forms of criticism except for the dickish kind, and I try to reply to everything. ^_^


	12. To Give Ourselves Those Little Extra Insights

If this is a trap, it’s a damned terrible one.  Emily stands in the small plexiglass box that the Psycho so kindly set on the pedestal for her.  She waits patiently for whatever sick game he’s set up for her now, drumming his fingers on the edge and absolutely refusing to look down.  She’s at least thirty feet off the ground.  When she woke, the pedestal was beginning to rise, and she could only watch in horror as the rock on the ground shrank to the size of a marble.  Now, she won’t look down if her life depends on it.  She already knows what will happen if she fails this new game.  She can see the wires connected to each corner of her little box, and she already found the hinges where the bottom will swing open.  She just has to make sure she doesn’t panic when that happens, and she’ll be fine.  
  
  
Or, you know, not lose.  
  
  
Chris is in just as bad a state now as she will be later.  He is terrified of tight spaces, and the plexiglass box isn’t exactly spacious.  He’s fidgeting as heavily as a tweaker without his fix.  She wants to snap at him to calm the fuck down, but she’s fidgeting in her own way so she can’t really complain.  She feels like she needs to reach over and awkwardly pat his shoulder to quietly let him know he’s not alone without actually having to say the words - she’s not exactly great at expressing emotions other than rage - but he’s easily twenty feet away.  She chooses instead to simply stare straight ahead at the white screen before them and pretend she has no idea that he’s suffering.  She’s only 30% certain that it’s working.  
  
  
“Chris, if you don’t stop fidgeting, I’m going to trigger your ‘lose’ result right now, and I promise you won’t like it.”  The Psycho’s face pops up on the screen.  He sounds testy - and also exhausted.  Oh, goodie…He has made a mistake and shown a weakness, and Emily just happens to be very, very skilled at exploiting weaknesses.  Emily’s eyebrow twitches upward slightly, but she makes sure to keep her face smooth and emotionless.  She can use this later.  For now, she just has to quietly play along.  
  
  
“Finally.  Okay.  Welcome, Emily and Chris, to your personal testing grounds.  You’re both geniuses in your own rights, but you’re terrible at the whole ‘teamwork’ thing.  Can you guess what this test is going to force you to do?  I mean, you’re geniuses.  I’m sure you can figure it out yourselves - but I’m going to tell you anyway.”  His masked face vanishes, and a giant Rubik’s cube appears in its place.    
  
  
“You want us to solve a Rubik’s cube?”  Chris sounds incredulous (and queasy), but she can’t tell whether it swings toward ‘disappointed’ or ‘horrified’.  “I…I’m speechless.”  
  
  
“You should be.”  The Psycho sounds triumphant.  “I know for a fact that neither of you have ever completed a Rubik’s cube in your lives.  This should be truly horrifying, as both of you know by now that the reward for failure is traumatizing and painful for all parties - except me, of course.  I’m just the observer and the referee.”  
  
  
“Isn’t that rather a conflict of interest?” Emily interjected.  “You’re organizing and running these games.  Being a referee seems to be transparent favoritism on your part.  Shouldn’t you have an unbiased person working alongside you to make sure nobody’s cheating on either side?”  
  
  
“Probably.”  She…definitely didn’t expect him to agree with her.  “But it doesn’t really matter now, does it?  I’ve already made all the preparations, and I have you in my clutches.  How about we just play the game and go from there, hmm?”  He claps his hands right beside his microphone, sending a feedback loop echoing through the room.  Chris claps his hands over his head, while Emily just winces and looks away from the screen, futilely hoping that if she can’t see the source of the disturbance, it will stop existing.  It does not.  
  
  
“Now then.  Let me explain the rules.  Emily will control the horizontal slides, and Chris will control the vertical.  You must solve this enormous puzzle cube using the two handles down there.  Yes, they’re Wii handles, but they work so no complaining.  You will finish this cube in fifteen minutes or less.  Any questions?”  
  
  
Chris shakes his head, but Emily raises her hand almost primly, as though she were back in school.  “Yes, I have a question.  What’s the catch?”  
  
  
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.  Begin.”    
  
  
The clock numbers in the bottom corner of the screen begin to flash, counting down the seconds.  They grabbed their controllers and inspected them quickly.  “I think we just have to click and flick - like in Harry Potter.”  Realization dawned on Chris’s face.  “It’s a Harry Potter reference.  Swish and flick, Wingardium Leviosa.  Get it?”  
  
  
“I think we have more important things to worry about right now, Chris.”  Emily clicks on the yellow square and flicks the entire row aside.  “Okay.  I’m sure you’re just as worried as me about finishing this, but remember - it’s just a pattern.  We can solve patterns, right?  Can’t be that hard.  You’re good at patterns, I’m great at math.  Let’s get this done.”  
  
  
After tentatively scrolling through the puzzle and figuring out the controls the rest of the way, a yellow block suddenly turns black with a ‘blip’.  “Whoa, whoa, what was that?”  Chris unnecessarily points at it.  “What the fuck was that, exactly?”  
  
  
“Ohh, did I forget to mention that?  My bad.  That happens every thirty seconds until thirty blocks are gone and your time is up.  And it won’t be all one color, either, so you can’t cheat and match them too.  I like to call this little handicap ‘what kind of fuckery is this’.  I think it’s appropriate.”  
  
  
Emily swears softly and flicks violently again.  “We have to solve faster.  Focus, Chris.  None of your stupid puns right now.”  
  
  
“Don’t worry about that, Ems.”  Chris is violently clicking and flicking like his life depends on it - which it probably does.  “We will dissolve this problem, for we are the solution!”  When Emily doesn’t react (other than a twitch of the eye he can’t see), he stops long enough to pout.  “I was hoping that would precipitate a better response.”    
  
  
“And while you were goofing off, we lost another piece.  Can you please just focus?”  
  
  
“I mean, the New York Times published an article stating that humor helps with problem solving.”  
  
  
“How do you even know that?”  
  
  
They work in silence for several minutes; Chris swears every time a puzzle piece changes, while Emily just purses her lips and flicks faster.  The sides of the cube are slowly turning into a solid color.  For the first time since this whole ordeal began, she’s starting to feel hope and confidence that maybe, just maybe, they can actually finish this stupid test.  Maybe soon, they’ll be free again.    
  
  
Or they’ll be dead.  Either way, the games will be over.  At this point, either result is better than the current situation she finds herself in.  God, she should have just stayed at home from Josh’s stupid party -  
  
  
That’s it.  
  
  
Emily stops abruptly, the controller clattering to the floor of her little box.  “I’ve done it,” she whispers quietly.  “I’ve figured out who the Psycho is.”  Chris glances over and says something, but her mind is racing to the point that she can’t hear anything.  She notices that her breathing has increased dramatically and her entire body is tingling; did she actually give herself an adrenaline rush here?  It doesn’t matter.  She needs to focus on this puzzle for now.  She can always think about this later.  
  
  
But time is up.  She stares hopelessly at the numbers in the corner, now flashing 00:00.  She had completely fucked them both.  Her sudden flash of brilliance had ruined her concentration and had lost them the - wait.  Wait.  Why were all the sides one color with a few snippets of black scattered about?  
  
  
“I finished it.”  Chris shrugs, refusing to look at her.  “We were almost done when you zoned out over there, so we should be fine.  He’ll let us go.  Why did you zone out, anyway?”  
  
  
“Hey, wow!  You guys did great!  Except for Emily, who just kind of stood there for forever, but yeah, great job!”  Again, he claps his hands, but this time he keeps his hands away from the microphone, thank god.  “Unnnfortunately, you did not properly complete the puzzle.  Now before you start protesting, let me show you why.”  The black pieces fade to show one or two wrong colors on every side - combinations that she isn’t entirely sure is even possible, but she’s in no position to argue it right now.  She has to find the perfect time to confront him.   
  
  
“It really is a pity,” he continues with a heavy sigh.  “I was so hoping you two geniuses could figure this out.  Sadly, you now have to suffer the consequences.  I had such high hopes for you guys.  Oh well.  Time to face your fears.”  
  
  
The pedestal and floor of Emily’s box suddenly drops away from under her; she grabs the side just in time and clings to it desperately.  She can hear Chris yelling in fear and fury and glances over long enough to see that his box simply closed with him inside of it.  Claustrophobia: the fear of small tight spaces.  He was definitely playing on their deepest phobias.  Hers, of course, was acrophobia: a fear of heights.  This, of course, was only exacerbated by the fact that they were hanging over the deep, deep floor of the cave now.  She clutches the plexiglass side, but her fingers are beginning to slip.  She screams as she slowly slides down the side and finally falls into the deep crevice below.  
  
  
…where she lands on a strange netting ten feet away from the floor.  Within moments, Chris flops down next to her, also shrieking in a terrifyingly girly manner.  She barely has time to register it when a soft hissing fills her ears and she simply lays back down, fully aware of what is going on.    
  
  
“Almost time for the grand reveal, fellas.  Hope you can make it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emily is a Smart Bean.
> 
> This is the final chapter of games! I've included everybody (except Sam, and you'll find out why after the commercial break) in these crazy shenanigans. Time to wrap this arc up!
> 
> Next arc is gonna be tricky. I'm not sure how you guys will feel about it, but we'll see, we'll see...........
> 
> LET'S GET THIS TRAIN WRECK ON THE ROAD


	13. Though They Try Hard Not To Say How It's Done, They Always Do

This is the luckiest break he’s ever had in his life, though it doesn’t quite feel like it right now.  Matt groans softly and buries his face into the closest soft thing he can find.  Odd, though; this pillow smells like armpit.  He forces one eye open and pulls back slightly.  It is an armpit.  It is Chris’s armpit, and it is a place he does not wish to be.  He sits up quickly, then groans and clutches his head.  God, the pain is way too intense for his liking.  It’s like a migraine but everywhere.    
  
Still, though.  Something is off - after all, it was some kind of weird shrieking that woke him up - and he has to figure out what it is.  Unfortunately, that requires opening his eyes and actually doing stuff.  The stabbing pain between his eyes threatens that if he opens them again, it will magically conjure a knife and become literal stabbing, but he has no choice.  He forces each eyelid open slowly, ready to snap them closed again if something is too bright.  It is quite dark in here, however, and it isn’t long before he’s looking around for any sign of where he is.  
  
That answer does not come to him, but a strange observance does.  Other than Sam and Emily, everyone is here.  Jess and Ashley are piled on an old ragged mattress, holding each other in an almost death-like grip, while he, Mike, and Chris are sprawled across the floor, tossed aside like yesterday’s garbage.  The others are all quietly sleeping off their drug-induced comas, and he is the only one conscious.  
  
There is no sign of the Psycho.  
  
This is his chance.  
  
He can just run, run far, run fast.  To the cable car, perhaps, where the one phone on this stupid mountain is tacked haphazardly to a pole.  To the old garden shed, where surely some form of weapon could be found.  He could save them all.  
  
But he can’t just leave them here.  
  
Swearing softly under his breath, Matt grabs Mike’s shoulders and begins to shake.  “Mike - buddy - you gotta wake up.”  The latter groans softly and tries to roll over, but Matt increases his shaking to the point that Mike’s head is flopping like a limp toddler’s.  “Mike. Hey.  Practice time.  Get up.”  
  
“Go away.”  Mike’s arm raises in a halfhearted slap that Matt dodges easily.  
  
“Nahh, man, you gotta get up.  It’s an emergency practice.  Coach called and said if you’re not there in twenty minutes, you’re off the team.”  This, somewhat surprisingly, works.  Mike sits up as abruptly as a heavily drugged person could, then slaps his own face.  “Ugh.  Ugh.  How much did I drink last night?”  
  
Matt drops all pretenses now.  “Great, you’re awake.  Help me wake up Chris.  We’ve got to get out of here before that freak comes back.”  Mike doesn’t move, but Matt doesn’t really care right now.  This old building that he’s fairly certain is the old barn-like structure that they’d watched Josh die in is starting to creak and sway in a gust of wind, and he doesn’t trust it to stay upright for long.  He shakes Chris until the blonde nerd also sits up, then leans back against the wall.  He deserves a break.  Waking up these two was exhausting, and he’s still feeling the effects of the drug himself.  He just wants to go back to sleep…  
  
“Hey.”  A sharp slap snaps his eyes back open.  Mike is glaring at him from about two inches away; if this were a movie or a fanfiction, it would be considered ‘kissing distance’.  “You woke us up, so you don’t get to nap.  Get your shit together.  We gotta wake up the girls - ”  
  
“Actually, I think they’re safest here.”  Chris pushes his glasses back onto his face - Matt grimly thinks that it was incredibly kind of the Psycho to take off his glasses between crazy shit so they don’t break - and shakes his head.  “We won’t be able to escape - the girls will slow us down more than we already are.  I think the three of us should come together and take him out ourselves.”  
  
“Are you nuts?”  Mike throws his hands in the air and stands up to pace in frustration, the floorboards creaking ominously.  “He’ll kill them if we leave them here!  We have no idea what he did to Sam and Emily, so why the hell would we risk losing Jess and Ash too?”  
  
“Because he didn’t kill them.”  Chris pushes his glasses up his nose again in an almost condescending manner.  “Every trap we’ve seen thus far has had a virtual safety net to keep us alive if we fail.”  
  
“Not true,” Matt interjects.  “We - I - Josh died.  I failed the test, and Josh is dead.”  
  
Chris’s eyes snap up to his, searching desperately for the lie, but Matt has to look away from the intensity of the stare.  When he finally glances back, it looks like Chris is about to cry - he can’t really tell from how dark it is in here - but to his credit, not a single tear falls.  Instead, he wipes his eyes with a thumb and continues talking.  “We cannot focus on that right now.  Josh would have wanted us all to escape alive - and take that bastard down with us.”  
  
“How are we even supposed to do that?”  Matt has to whip around to shush Mike, whose shouts are echoing off the rafters.  He obeys, but barely.  “We have no idea on this enormous-ass mountain where the fuck he is.  He clearly knows this place way better than we do.  He could be anywhere!”  
  
“But he left us all here.”  Chris is surprisingly calm; ordinarily, he would have raised his voice back to start yet another shouting match between the two.  “This is his ‘dumping ground’, for lack of a better term.  This is where he leaves us between trials.  He’ll be back for whoever takes part in his next game.  We just have to be ready for him when that happens.”  He leans forward conspiratorially. “Here’s my plan.”  
  
  
  
  
“Some plan,” Mike mutters as he shuffles through the dust and the grime of years and years of neglect.  “Don’t see why I have to be the bait, anyway.  Isn’t it enough that he’ll notice all of us gone and freak out?  Rat bastard’s gonna get me killed.”  He kicks at an old lawn mower and winces when his foot ricochets with a clang.  Oops.  
  
Well, screw it.  The whole point of him being out here is to draw the Psycho away from the room, right?  That’s what all three of them are doing - it just sucks great big fat donkey dick that Matt and Chris get to work together and he has to putter off on his own.  Is he jealous?  Yeah, a little bit.  At least Chris and Matt have someone watching their back.  It’s not like they sent him away for a fuck fest…  
  
CLANG  
  
“Ow!  Shit!”  
  
“Hello?  Is anyone there?”  Mike freezes at the frightened, helpless voice echoing from somewhere over there.  He knows that voice, though he’s never heard it sound like that.  It’s always bossy and confident or straight-up bitchy, but even when she’s in tears, Emily doesn’t sound like that.  He doesn’t respond right away, letting her frightened whimpers guide him through the maze of tarp-covered equipment and dust until he sees her.  She sits awkwardly in some kind of iron dog kennel, a heavy chain and lock sealing it shut for now.  He can’t save her, not yet.  
  
But he can let her know she’s not alone.  
  
“Emily.”  Mike scoots to her with a finger over his lips to tell her to stay quiet.  She obeys, only sobbing a little bit and stretching her thin, bruised arms through the bars of her cage to hug him tightly.  “Hey, hey now, it’s okay.  It’s gonna be okay.”  
  
“It is, now that you’re here.”  She plants a kiss on his cheek and pulls back slightly to stare him in the eyes while clinging to his arms.  “Are you going to get me out of here?”  
  
“I am, but not right now.”  He leans closer so he can whisper without risking the echo effect that this barn seems so good with.  “Chris and Matt are looking for a way to beat the Psycho.  Once he’s down, we’re coming back for you.”  
  
“He’s going to kill me, Mike!”  Mike winces at the shrillness of her cry and the ensuing echo that bounces around every tarp and rafter.  When it dies down, she continues in a frail whisper.  “He said so.  I figured out who he is.  He’s going to kill me when he gets everyone in their last trial.  He wants to make it look like I died in mine.  He’s not going to let me go, Mike.”  
  
“We’re going to take him out.”  He presses a hand to her swollen cheek, wincing as she flinches away from him.  “Don’t worry.  I’m not gonna let anything happen to - ”  
  
A sudden roar from the room has them both shying back.  Mike presses a finger to his lips and pulls away from the digging fingers in his arms.  “It’s time, Emily.  I promise I’ll be back.”  
  
  
==========  
  
  
  
"FUCK!"  
  
 _Are you fucking serious right now?_   Hannah storms past him and kicks at the pile of rags on the floor, where he had left the other boys.  _You let them escape?  Are you fucking nuts?!_  
  
"There's no 'let' about this, Hannah - they fucking left.  How the fuck did they wake up?  I drugged the shit out of them.  Look, Ash and Jess are still asleep!  How did the guys wake up and not the girls?!"  He, too, kicks something.  It turns out to be a bucket, and it clatters across the floor.  "Fuck!  Fuck!  Shit!"  He doesn't care if anyone hears him.  He just knows that he fucked up, bad, and he has to fix this.  
  
 _Do you understand how big a problem this is, Josh?_ Beth's face is pinched with worry.  _If they can get to the cable car, they can call for help.  They can report you to the police.  No amount of money you throw at this problem will make it go away.  Your dreams - your career - it's all over._  
  
"Maybe I can convince them."  Josh paces, back and forth, forth and back.  "If I can get them back, convince them it's just for the TV show pitch I've been working on - get them to sign those forms - "  
  
 _You know they never will.  Not when they find out it's you._  
  
 _Yeah, Joshie._  Hannah spits the name with venom.  _What are you fucking waiting for?  You have to go get them and bring them back here!_  
  
" _I know that, Hannah!_ "  He grabs his axe and storms out of the room.  Where the fuck would three drugged-out teenagers who had no idea where they were go?  He had no fucking idea.  
  
"Hey!  Bitch face!"  Josh glances up to see Mike, wielding a rusted iron pipe, standing not thirty feet in front of him.  "You want me?  Come and get me, you fucking psycho!"  He smacks the pipe against an ancient tractor from the early 1900s and readies himself for battle - which looks surprisingly like he's getting ready to tackle something.  "C'mon, bitch!  You scared of me or something?!"  
  
With a roar of fury, Josh raises his axe and charges forward.  He can't see anything - only red and the taunting figure before him.  He doesn't hear the bizarre screeches echoing in the building around him.  He doesn't even care if he hurts or kills Mike right now.  All he cares about is that his plans are ruined, ruined, and there's nothing he can do about it.  Maybe he can get his revenge another way.  
  
Or he would, if that shovel hadn't come out of nowhere to punch him in the face.  The red vanishes to black, and he goes down like a mannequin in an explosion.  Everything is dark and quiet now.  
  
==========  
  
  
The past few days have been a haze.  Has it been days?  Surely it has - there's no way this slumber only lasted a few hours.  She had such strange and creepy dreams - dreams of a masked man bending over her, pressing a mask to her face, whispering sweet nothings as she slipped back into the silent void.  Those dreams were not pleasant; she shivers as she remembers them.  It doesn't help that she woke up to some kind of eerie screaming, and it re-echoes every few minutes like a horror movie's alarm clock.  It's not even because of the cold; she doesn't feel that cold.  It's just genuinely creepy.  
  
Sam pushes past a large heavy box and sneezes at the cloud of dust it poofs into her face.  She fans it away and keeps slowly stepping forward.  Seriously, where the hell is she?  She's pretty sure she's still on the mountain, but where?  I mean, yes, it's a big mountain, and Beth's family isn't the only one here - or 'wasn't', she believes is more appropriate now that they've all packed up and left - but even they hadn't set up a freaking airplane hangar on their property.  She runs a finger over some grime-covered words to reveal the Bobcat logo.  Maybe this is where the construction workers that actually built all of the vacation homes stored their equipment, since it's such a hassle to drag them down the mountain again.  She wipes the grime onto her jeans and keeps walking.  
  
What's really creepy is the somewhat open area before her.  Sixteen cages are scattered across a large open room, deep scratches marring the cast-iron bars.  Almost all of the doors are open, waiting patiently like the maw of a crocodile awaiting a helpless bird to land on his tongue.  Sam slowly makes her way through the haphazardly scattered boxes, praying that whatever was being trapped inside those cages is long, long gone.  She bumps into one and jumps backward with a frightened squeak.  "Good grief, Sammy, calm down," she chides herself with a quiet titter of nervous laughter.  
  
The laughter dies within a few steps.  It may be sort of dark in here, but the dim light is just enough to show her that the slowly growing puddle on the ground is maybe oil - but probably not.  She grips the top of the cage that startled her and slowly creeps around the puddle, half-heartedly determined to find the source, if only to sate her own morbid curiosity.  It isn't hard to find the source; it's coming from the only cage that has had its top crushed like a recycled aluminum can.  
  
It's also the only cage to contain a severed head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel that, to pay homage to Infinity Wars (which I haven't seen yet so hush your faces), I should end this on a cliffhanger. Please refrain from murdering me until next Wednesday.


	14. It's Hard To Do, But They're So Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh gets what he deserves - but another person gets something they absolutely do not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a huge burst of inspiration writing the ending to this. If I hadn't, I would not have posted today. Yayyy, deadlines!

"I think he's tied up well enough now, Chris."  
  
"Yeah, he looks like a shitty mummy."  Jessica giggles giddily and leans into Mike's side.  She's shivering, still wearing the crop top and shorts that the Psycho had put her in for her final game.  Mike slides his hoodie around her shoulders and holds her closer to keep her warm.  She leans up to press a kiss to his cheek, then glances over her shoulder.  Emily is shoving a finger down her throat to mimic vomiting.  Ashley is giggling nervously, but the second she sees Jessica's venomous glare, she falls into an equally nervous silence.  "Whatever.  Let's unmask this little fucker and see the face of the man who's been traumatizing us this entire week."    
  
She steps forward and rips the Psycho's mask from his face, ignoring the elastic that was holding it in place.  That seems to snap him awake, as he lurches forward with a yelp of pain and tries to grab at his face with his bound hands.  When he realizes he can't, he sits up again to flop his head back onto his shoulders.  Stunned, nobody says a word for several seconds, until Sam lifts her hands to her mouth and whispers between clenched fingers, "J-Josh?"  
  
"Josh - "  Matt staggers backward several paces.  When he sees that impish face, all he can see is Josh being ripped to shreds by that saw.  He can hear the ghostly memory of flesh being shredded, blood splattering on concrete, the screams of all three boys.  He has to shake his head and blink several times to rid himself of the memory vision, then lunges forward to slam his fist into Josh's nose.  Luckily for him, Josh managed to dodge his head to one side just far enough that Matt's punch slams into his eye.  "I watched you fucking die!"    
  
Josh grins as his eye begins to swell with blue and purple swirls.  "You mean I actually fooled you?  Hey, that's awesome!  My special effects are better than I thought.  My show-biz skills will be the best in Hollywood - "  
  
"Who said you're going to Hollywood?" Emily snaps.   "A piece of shit like you - "  
  
A chilling scream ripples through the entire building.  Mike snaps to attention with horror.  "Who the fuck is that?"  Without even stopping to consider what's going on, he bounds through the door, the others hot on his heels.  He screeches to a halt beside the cage that Emily was locked in to find Sam pressed against the other side, sobbing into herarms.  "Sam!"  He drops to his knee beside her and pulls her into his arms (much to Jessica and Emily's silent burning stares).  "Sam, are you okay?  What's going on?  Where the hell have you been?"  She buries her face into his shoulder and flings her arm out in front of her, pointing at some vague package on the ground.    
  
Matt and Chris slowly edge over, keeping a close eye on it; Matt reached out with his foot to gently turn it over and let out a yell of fear at what he saw.  It is a severed head but oddly without any blood.  Blank empty eyes stare up at him, thin peach-colored lips pursed into an allegedly sexy pout.  Matt swears and aims a kick at it, sending it flying into the rafters.  "It's just a stupid mannequin head," he mutters irritably before turning away.  
  
Chris, however, lets out a shriek of dismay.  "It's not just ANY mannequin head - it's the lumberjack!  That is a priceless movie prop from the 80s!  How - why - "  He chases after it, vanishing into the shadows that surround them.  Matt rolls his eyes and returns to the group.  Sam is finally on her feet, her legs trembling so badly that Mike has to hold her up.  "It's cool, Sam, it was just a mannequin head.  Chris lost his shit over it because it was a lumberjack or some shit."  
  
Ashley shakes her head.  "The Lumberjack was his favorite villain when he was a kid.  He's not going to stop until he - "  
  
"WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU LAND, YOU STUPID HEAD?!"  
  
Ashley shrugs helplessly and drapes Sam's other arm over her shoulders.  "Look, let's just get back to Josh.  Chris will eventually come back."    
  
They help Sam slowly hobble back to the room as the shaking in her legs slowly subsides.  Josh lights up like a Christmas tree when he sees her.  "Sammy-bird!  How are you feeling?  Are you still woozy?  Is that why your legs are shaking?  Why the fuck are you guys forcing her to walk around - let her sit down for god's sakes, or she'll collapse.  I think I gave her too big a dose last time."  
  
Mike gently eases Sam to the bed that the girls were sleeping on, then turns around and lunges at Josh.  "What - " punch  " - did - " elbow  " - you - " backhand  " - do to her, you fucking prick?"  
  
Jessica steps forward and folds her arms over her chest.  "Yeah, fuckwad - where was your precious little girlfriend while the rest of us were suffering for your sick pleasure?  She wasn't in any of my games.  Matt, was she in any of your games?"  
  
"She sure as shit wasn't in any of mine."  Mike speaks with surprising smoothness as he keeps slowly, deliberately, aiming blows at Josh's face and chest.  "I'm pretty sure he snuck her away so she wouldn't have to do any of this bullshit."  
  
"I - "  Josh coughs and wheezes for a moment, then gasps out, "I did.  She wasn't part of it, so she shouldn't be punished for it.  That wouldn't be fair, now, would it?"  
  
Mike stares down at him, speechless for a second, then slams another punch into his face.  "THAT is what this is about?  Are you fucking serious?  Wasn't losing two of our best friends enough punishment for us?  Ashley's been in therapy for that for MONTHS - and because of you, she's probably going to check into the asylum because you drove her completely insane!"  
  
"Stop it!"  Sam slips between the two boys and stands, arms out, as a protective shield for Josh.  Her legs are still trembling badly, but the look on her face makes it clear that she will beat up anyone who tries to cross her.  "You're going to kill him!"  
  
"Which is exactly what he deserves."  Mike's voice has never been so cold toward Sam since they met in the sixth grade.  "Get out of my way."  
  
"You'll have to go through me first."  She sets her chin and shifts her weight to balance evenly on both feet.  "You really want to ...to square left with me, Mike?"  
  
Mike can't resist a snort of laughter; neither can Matt or Ashley.  "It's...it's 'square up', Sam.  And no, I really don't want to.  I want you to absolutely not be right there.  You need to move, or I will move you myself."  
  
"Stop fighting!"  Ashley forces herself between Sam and Mike (no easy feat, since they were mere inches apart at this point) and tries to push them apart again.  "Please - we've all been through enough.  Can't we just take Josh back to the lodge, keep him tied up til morning, and take him to the police as soon as we take the cable car down?  Let's just party one more time so this week wasn't totally wasted, then go down first thing in the morning.  We'll take him to the police and then all just...go home.  Pretend this week never happened.  Please?"  Her voice is trembling faintly, as though she's about to begin sobbing.  
  
Sam looks furious, but her expression fades to weary resignation.  "I...can agree to that, but only if you guys tell me what happened.  The past few days have been...really blurry for me."  
  
Mike also looks furious, and his expression doesn't fade.  Jessica steps forward and slides her hands around his tense muscular arm.  "Of course we can do that...can't we, Mike?  Come on, let's just go back to the lodge.  I need a damn shower, anyway."  
  
  
\-------------  
  
  
Everyone seems to have settled down into party mode.  More alcohol has been found, as well as enough ingredients for s'mores and hot dogs to feed them for a week.  At least Josh was good for something this weekend.  Ashley is nervous - more nervous than she's been in a long time.  She can't tell if it's residual fear from their version of the Hunger Games, but she knows at least half of it is from what she's decided to do.  When they leave this mountain, it will be far too late for her to do anything about this; now is her only chance.  
  
"Ch-Chris?  Can I see you outside for a moment?"  
  
He nods.  They walk deep into the darkness of the backyard, close enough to be holding hands if he hadn't shoved his hands deep into his pockets.  Ashley had no idea where they were going - she just knew that they were walking together under an almost romantic noon, their boots crunching through untouched snow.  This truly was a beautiful night, now that the stress of surviving til tomorrow was gone.  She wants so badly to slip her gloved hand into his, but she can't bring herself to do it.  She has more important things to deal with right now; holding his hand will be her reward.  
  
Chris stops about halfway to the treeline, under a small gazebo that's completely out of the way and bathed in moonlight.  Does he know what she's about to do?  Is that why he chose to stop in the single most love-story-esque location in this entire place?  "So, what's this all about?"  
  
Ashley stands before him, trembling in her soft Uggs.  She was a smart, strong, sensual woman.  She put her bra on one boob at a time.  She could do this.  "Um - I - "  She stopped to gasp in a lungful of crisp and cool air.  "We - we've been friends with a very long time.  This week has taught me to live life to the fullest, and I think part of that is telling you exactly how I feel."  She inhales deeply again and plunges back into her speech before he can react.  "This week, we've both barely escaped with our lives.  I realized then that I needed to tell you the truth, so here it is.  I...I have feelings for you.  Romance novel feelings, not a school-girl crush.  I've liked you since third grade.  Now that we're both adults going to the same college - I think - would you - "  
  
He presses a finger to her lips.  "Thank you for being honest with me."  His eyes bore into hers, but she cannot tell what is hiding behind them.  "It was very brave of you to speak up like that.  I can appreciate that kind of inner strength."  He reaches down to grab her hand with both of his, holding it so gently that her hand feels like it's floating through a warm summer breeze.  "I - must be honest with you as well.  I like you a lot, Ashley - but I don't have romantic feelings for you.  You're one of my best friends - probably my very best friend now that Josh is basically gone.  You are irreplaceable to me.  But I cannot in good conscience date you when I don't want to.  That's unfair to both of us."  
  
He's still talking, but Ashley can't hear him.  Her blood is pounding in her ears.  He pulls away and turns to take a few steps, still talking.  Her legs are shaking as badly as Sam's were.  She wants to cry, to scream, to laugh maniacally at her shitty, shitty luck.  This is why she doesn't take risks - she always loses.  She should have known better, should have known that a guy like Chris would never even consider going out with a girl like her.  Stupid, Ashley, so stupid, stupid, stupid...  
  
Chris suddenly turns around and opens his arms.  "I've upset you, and I'm sorry.  C'mon, let's go back inside and have some drinks.  We'll play a round of CoD Zombies.  I bet you can beat me this time."  She nods mutely and opens her arms almost obediently.  He steps forward and wraps his arms around her, then suddenly goes completely limp.  She staggers under the sudden weight of his body.  "Chris - "  When she pulls her head back from his shoulders and looks up, her vision is suddenly clouded with a red sticky substance.  She pulls one arm back to wipe her arms clean, then abruptly recoils from his body when she sees it is now lacking a head and spraying blood in erratic squirts, showering her with crimson.  She drops him completely, slowly moving step by step away from him - until she trips over something and falls on her ass.  This seems to temporarily snap her out of her haze of shock and she shuffles back, trying to retake her feet.  Her foot catches on the object again and launches it a few feet forward.  This time, she gets a nice long look at it.  
  
Chris seems to be missing his glasses.  His eyes, glassy and dull, stare at her stomach, his mouth open and tongue flopping out past his teeth.  
  
Ashley screams.  She can't control it; she can't stop it.  She just screams and screams while her jeans get slowly soaked with snow.  Tears blur her eyes and flow freely.  Behind her, she can dimly hear the music thumping through the large glass door.  Nobody can hear her.  Nobody can see her.  She is alone with Chris's body and lonely head, forever separated.  
  
Sudden, hands grab each of her arms and drag her to her feet.  She can hear shouting, two loud booms, and a weird shrieking wail from the treetops.  "Move!  C'mon, Ashley, move your ass!"  She obeys without question, barely coherent at this point.  She's babbling, she doesn't even know what she's saying, but words are spilling from her lips in a horrified ramble.  She's being dragged through the snow, for her clumsy, stumbling footsteps are far too slow for the people (rescuing?) her.  She cannot focus.  She cannot see.  She can only obey.  
  
The warmth of the fire inside punches her back into reality as the sliding glass door slams behind her.  Jessica and Sam rush over, dragging her away from the dark-clothed strangers, who are frantically dragging the blinds over the window and screwing them shut.  They ask her if she's okay, but she can't even speak at she stares, dumbfounded, at her rescuers.  Finally, the one without the shotgun turns to the silent and staring group, flipping her leather jacket's hood back over her midnight hair.  "Is everyone else all right?  I need you to help me cover every single window, right now.  This is an emergency, people, let's move!"  
  
Sam's trembling voice cuts through the ensuing silence like a sharp knife through tissue paper.  
  
"Beth?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I begin my mini-rant, allow me to address the fans of Chris: Please Don't Stab Me. I cannot continue putting out content if I am dead.
> 
> So yayyyyyy, Beth is back! But who is the dark stranger wielding a shotgun beside her?
> 
> This chapter was hard to write. I'm terrible at confrontations (which probably stems from my fear of confrontation), so I did the best I could. Is it great? Nahh. But it's a thing.


	15. And If They Take a Couple Out, We'll Try to Work Things Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise Update!
> 
> I got punched in the face with motivation to write so you guys get this piece of garbage.

The deep bass thumping through the lodge is the only sound anyone can hear.  The two strangers by the window don't move; the partiers huddle close together and stare.  Only Sam is standing up and slowly approaching the new arrivals.  "B-Beth?  Is that you?"  
  
"Who else would I be?  Samuel L Jackson?"  Beth uncomfortably rubs the back of her neck.  "Uh - long time, no see, I guess?"  
  
"Beth!  Oh my god - "  Sam lunges forward and throws her arms around her neck.  A sob chokes from her throat.  "I thought - we thought - oh god, you're still alive - "  
  
Ashley hurries forward to grab her sleeve.  "We thought you died!  The police gave up looking when they couldn't find your bodies!"  She jerks excitedly on the leather jacket.  "Where did you go?  What happened?"  
  
Mike reaches out to touch the silent partner's hood.  "Is...Are you Hannah?"  
  
Their head tilts toward him slightly, and they cock the shotgun tucked under their arm.  "Please don't touch my hood.  I don't like to be touched."  
  
"Sorry."  He pulls his hand back and shuffles back a few paces.  "Uh - where the hell have you been, Beth?  And who's this person you're with?"  
  
"Hey - if anyone gets to ask questions, it should be me!"  Josh tries to tilt his chair around the edge of the couch but ends up tipping himself over.  "Ouch!  ...a little help?  Someone?  Anyone?"  
  
Beth leans forward slightly to see what happened.  Her eyes widen, and she pulls away from Sam to rush to Josh's side.  "Shortcake!  Oh my god - what have they done to you?"  She pulls him upright with one hand while throwing the other hand out in a 'what the fuck' motion.  "Seriously, guys, what the hell?  Is this some kind of stupid party game you came up with or something?  And why is his face all swollen?  Shortcake - "  
  
Matt and Mike exchange nervous glances.  "Uhh - that's not important right now."  Matt tugs Beth to her feet and turns her around so she can't see Josh anymore.  "I, uh, I'm confused.  You said Chris was - "  
  
"Dead.  Yes."  Beth jerks her shoulder out of his grasp, her expression turbulent.  "Do you guys need to see it to believe it?  You let him outside at night on Blackwood Mountain, what did you expect would happen?  'Oh, this is the Washington Lodge, we're all safe here!'"  She shakes her head and turns to her silent partner.  "Open the blinds.  Let them see what we're up against."  With a glance over her shoulder, she adds as casually as if she's reminding them to stay hydrated on a field trip, "Oh, and nobody move.  They hunt by sight, and I'm pretty sure Mom and Dad didn't build this place with shatterproof glass."    
  
The hooded figure who Beth refers to as H slowly pushes the blinds aside.  In the moonlit yard, they can clearly see the soccer ball-sized head staring into the sky, glasses still attached to his face.  Under the gazebo where his body had fallen, a strange humanoid creature bent over the corpse.  Its skin was stretched over its body, like butter over too much bread.  The head was too large, with just enough wrinkles to make it look like the head of a human that had far outlived its life expectancy.  Long fanglike teeth jut out from its shredded upper lip as its jaw unhinges like a snake and scoops another fist full of flesh into its face.  It has no hair on its naked body, nor does it have any form of clothing, not even a loincloth that is so popular in movies and games.  Long, large hands rip the flesh straight from Chris's gut and shovel it into its disjointed mouth, but the entire time it feeds, its head is slowly moving back and forth like a searchlight, pale yellow eyes glowing like dull headlamps in the moonlight.  
  
Ashley gasps and clamps her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming.  Sam puts her arm over Ash's shoulders and holds her close to console and calm her.  Matt clenches his fists at his sides, his face turning ashen with disgust.  Emily refuses to look, but Jessica can only stare.  "What," she whispers, "...the *fuck*...is that?"  
  
"That is called a Wendigo."  Beth speaks at a normal volume, which makes everyone flinch in terror.  "Don't worry - they ignore every sound that isn't their own screaming..  They hunt by movement, so try to remain completely still."  She glances over her shoulder at the pale and trembling party-goers.  "This is exactly why you should always close your blinds at night, and never ever go outside.  They seem to rarely go out during the day, so that's the ideal time to leave."  She lightly and slowly taps her partner on the hip.  The partner slowly begins to pull the blinds closed, stopping whenever the Wendigo's eyes land on the wobbling slats.  It doesn't seem to care, however, and continues its feast on the corpse.  
  
When the blinds are almost closed, Josh leans over again to try to get a better view and topples over.  The Wendigo's head snaps up and stares directly into the room.  Everyone freezes and stares back.  The thought on everyone's mind is quite clearly 'please don't see us', but it would appear they have no such luck.  The Wendigo throws its head back and lets out an ungodly shriek that echoes into the night sky like the dying cries of a pterodactyl.  
  
"Move!  Into the master bedroom!"  The partner jerks the blinds closed and spins around.  Beth pushes Sam and Ashley to goad them into moving.  The other grabs Josh and drags him with them as Mike grabs the hands of both Emily and Jessica to drag them along.  Behind them,the window shatters into a thousand glittering fragments.  One of the chairs slams into the ground with a heavy thud, as if something weighty is resting on it while it goes down.  Fear spurs the group to run faster, but the partner is struggling in the rear with dragging Josh.  Matt, as unhappy as he is with the cruel prankster, hangs back to grab the other end of the chair and give a hand.  Together, they are able to slip into the door just in time to avoid a vicious swipe of the claws behind them.  "Hide!  Under the bed, in the closet, I don't fucking care - just hide and stay absolutely still!"  They set Josh behind where the door will open and throw themselves on the floor as if they're just two casual bear rugs, nothing to see here.    
  
The doors burst open with a splintered bang, and the Wendigo skitters into the room, slamming into the bed.  It begins to slowly turn around, claws digging into the mattress, in its search for any movement.  Matt can see Emily and Jessica huddling under the bed, clinging to each other as if they've never had a quarrel in their lives.  Sam and Ashley are peeking out of the closet, while Mike is pressed against the wall behind the window curtains.  Matt has to hide a snort of laughter at that, which gets him a sharp pinch from the stranger.  The Wendigo lets out an ear-piercing scream that makes everyone cringe, but apparently that is not enough movement to get caught.    
  
Finally, after several heart-stopping minutes, the Wendigo simply grunts and scampers from the room; the stranger slowly eases the door shuts and locks it securely before signalling with a thumbs up that everyone's okay.  Beth crawls out from the bathroom and sighs softly.  "We barely got out of that one.  See, H?  You were right.  More people, more problems."  She runs her fingers through her hair.  "Now then.  We have to wait here for a few minutes so the Wendigo can search the house and leave satisified.  Everybody get comfortable."  She gestures for her partner to sit, which they choose to do at Josh's feet, leaning back so their neck is pressed against his knees.    
  
The girls all crowd on the bed together, as if it's just another slumber party in middle school.  Jessica points at Beth with an evil glint in her eye.  "Well, since we have to sit here and wait *anyway*, why don't you explain to all of us where you've been?  And is that Hannah or not?  I have so many questions, and I'm not leaving until you give us an explanation."  
  
Half of Beth's face twists upward into a dry smirk.  "H and I have weapons, and we're trained in taking down Wendigo.  We'd be just fine leaving you here, all by yourself, and taking it out for good.  You really want that?"  Jessica instantly pulls her hands into her laps and screws her lips tightly shut.  Beth laughs, her warm familiar chuckles filling the room as they had so long ago, as if nothing had ever happened.  "But fine.  I owe you guys a pretty huge explanation.  It's... a long story."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Beth has officially returned! Not dead at all! But we still do not know who the masked stranger is...
> 
> Now, I have a question for you guys. Should I make Beth's story a flashback (which will take several chapters) or just Beth telling a brief summary of what happened so we can get back to the action quickly? Let me know in the comments or send me a message at boop-teh-snoot.tumblr.com to tell me what you think!


End file.
